The Ties that Bind
by smithsbabe65
Summary: Sylaire - Sequel to the Devil's Own. It's five years later and Sylar now wants to seek out the son he had with Claire. But what will happen when they are finally reunited? Read on to find out. Please read and review!
1. Chapter 1

**The Ties that Bind**

Summary: (Sylar/Claire) Sequel to the "Devil's Own".

It's been five years since Claire Bennett gave birth to her baby, a beautiful little boy that she's named Michael. Both mother and son are currently residing inside confining walls the new Petrelli family estate nestled away in an undisclosed location in upper state New York.

So far Mr. Linderman's people have found no trace of Michael's father, the nefarious serial killer, Gabriel Gray, otherwise known as Sylar.

A/N: I own nothing related to Heroes. All characters are the property of Tim Kring and NBC.

**Chapter One**

_Five years earlier…_

"He's a handsome lad, Claire. But then again, he does come from good stock. He's a _Linderman_, through and through. Look, he even has my eyes!"

"Oh, Daniel, don't be _daft_! All babies have blue eyes when they are first born!" Angela Petrelli addressed Mr. Linderman reproachfully.

She was disgusted by his apparent loss of decorum over the birth of Claire's child. Grant it the boy was their _first_ great grandson. But really, there was no need to be so _demonstrative_ about the whole affair!

The child's mother, visibly exhausted by her recent exertions to bring her son into the world, clutched her newborn more tightly to her bosom as she glared at her grandparents suspiciously. She knew they had plans for him. As soon as the boy was old enough, he was going to be taken away from her to begin his training.

Secretly though, Claire vowed that she would do anything in her power to protect her child from the twosome hovering above her hospital bed like two hungry buzzards waiting to swoop in to pick her bones clean.

Kissing the baby's red little forehead, Claire Bennett whispered solemnly, "Don't worry, Michael, Mommy will never let anyone hurt you."

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_Five years later…_

Claire Bennett happily flitted through the perfectly manicured gardens and lush green lawn of her grandmother's country estate. Claire decided to personally oversee the final preparations that had transformed the usually pristine courtyard into a children's wonderland.

Hundreds of colorful balloons adorned the tables and chairs which were strategically placed under the enormous red and white circus tent dominating the center of the freshly cut lawn. Nearby, there were two bounce houses, a humongous inflatable slide and an old-fashioned merry-go-around.

Smiling to herself, she was glad to see that her grandparents had not spared any expense on this important day. Moving further into the cheerfully decorated yard, Claire was careful not to get in anyone's way as she mentally checked off the items on her list of things to do.

_Soda dispensers…check._

_Ice…check._

_Piñata…check._

Meanwhile, the caterers busily grilled the hot dogs and hamburgers that were going to be served to her guests later on today. The familiar smells of mesquite and meat cooking over an open flame suddenly made Claire feel a little homesick for Odessa.

Happy memories of summer-time backyard barbeques with her adoptive family, the Bennett's, came to mind. She clearly remembered her father, Noah Bennett, proudly presiding over the grill wearing his "Kiss the Cook" apron, while her mother, Sandra would be putting the finishing touches on her allegedly world-famous potato salad.

And her brother Lyle would always find a way to be an annoying pest while Claire tried to work on her tan by the family swimming pool.

Now, her life was a far cry from the simpler times of her childhood.

At twenty-three, Claire had grown into womanhood beautifully. Her once long bouncy honey-colored curly tresses had been trimmed into a more mature but becoming style just above her shoulders.

Her skin, flawless as always, still maintained its youthful appearance. As for her figure, thanks to the rigorous work out routine she had adopted after the birth of her son, Claire now had a toned and lean silhouette.

Along with improving her body, she also expanded her education. Due to the endowments of her wealthy family, she was on the verge of graduating from Columbia University with a pre-law degree, a fact that made her bio-dad, Congressman Nathan Petrelli very proud.

But in Claire's mind, her greatest accomplishment was and will always be being Mikey's Mom. Her son was the light of her life and she would gladly lay it down in order to keep him safe.

Thank God the past five years she had raised him had been spent in veritable peace and without incident. However, Claire never let down her guard, she couldn't afford to.

As long the boy's father was still out there, somewhere, she would have to be relentlessly vigilant.

But today she refused to give Gabriel Gray, otherwise known as Sylar, another thought. Today was Mikey's fifth birthday! And Claire would be damned before she allowed the memory of Sylar ruin such a happy occasion.

Just then she felt someone's hand lightly touch her on the shoulder. Whirling around, Claire quickly came to face to face with her handsome uncle, Peter Petrelli.

"Hey kiddo how's party preparations coming along?" he asked with a crooked little smile.

Relieved to see him, she gave him a quick hug. "Everything looks great, doesn't it? I can't wait to see the look on Mikey's face when he sees all this!"

Peter chuckled a bit as his eyes wandered over the elaborate kid's paradise. "Yeah, I think the _squirt_ is going to go nuts! Damn, Claire, you sure pulled out all the stops. I don't ever remember _my _parents making such a fuss over _my_ birthday."

Laughing, Claire poked at her uncle's ribs. "Well, you were raised by the _Dragon Lady_. Her idea of fun was probably taking you kids to the family vault once a year to help polish her jewelry."

"I heard that!"

Both Peter and Claire turned around just in time to see the matriarch of the Petrelli clan make her grand entrance into the garden. Now in her mid-sixties, Angela was still quite a strikingly beautiful woman, with her dark Mediterranean features and elegant poise.

She looked quite lovely in a crisp white linen designer dress, obviously her version of casual wear.

As she made her way down the steps that led into the courtyard, she was on the arm of the main benefactor of today's event, Mr. Daniel Linderman.

He appeared to be rather relaxed in a pair of dark colored slacks and a long-sleeved powder blue oxford shirt that accentuated his eyes. He waved at the younger couple as he and Angela slowly approached them.

"Peter, Claire how good it is to see you both! Now where is that great-grandson of mine? I would like to give him his gift." Linderman was practically brimming with excitement at the prospect of bestowing Mikey with his birthday present.

"Hello, Daniel." Claire still couldn't bring herself to address this man as _grandpa._ But at least she had stopped being so formal with him.

"He's in the house playing with Simon and Monty. I just hope his uncles don't get him dirty before his party starts." Claire said worriedly.

"Oh, I'm sure he'll be fine. Besides, boys will be boys, right Peter?" Mr. Linderman winked at Angela's youngest son.

Peter warily looked upon the older man before responding. "If you say so, Mr. Linderman."

"Please, call me _Daniel_, my dear boy. We are practically family."

Sneering distastefully at the thought of even being remotely related to this old coot, Peter stated coolly, "You may be Nathan's real dad, but you're no kin to me."

Shocked, Angela Petrelli quickly tried to reign in her son. "Peter, that was totally uncalled for! Apologize immediately!"

"Look, Mom. Linderman may call the shots at the office, but this is _my_ home turf. And here, no one tells me what to do. Not even him. Now if you'll excuse me I have to make sure that security is doing their job."

With that, Peter turned on his heel before stalking away with long self-assured strides. As she watched her uncle's retreating back, Claire couldn't help feeling a sense of pride.

Almost no one stood up to Mr. Linderman the way Peter just did. Over the years as he gained more control over his powers, Peter Petrelli's confidence had grown exponentially.

He was now a man that had earned the respect of everyone that worked under his leadership in The Company, and he also was Noah Bennett's right hand man.

Very few people ever questioned his authority, not even Linderman.

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As soon as he was a safe distance away from his mother's ever probing mind, Peter mentally reached out to his Chief of Security. It was his job to maintain order and keep everyone on the compound safe.

_Parkman, what's your 20?_

Peter closed his eyes as Matt Parkman's response penetrated his psyche.

_I'm at the service entrance, sir. The entertainment's just arrived and we're checking them in now._

Nodding affirmatively, Peter sent back his reply.

_Very good, just make sure that everyone gets searched and scanned. That means everyone. We can't afford any mistakes, especially today._

Parkman immediately acknowledged his orders

_Yes, sir. I read you loud and clear._

lllll

After his telepathic communiqué with Peter Petrelli, Matt Parkman continued to check in the jugglers, acrobats and clowns hired to delight the children and adults alike.

He was also very pleased that his own son, little Mattie had been invited to partake of the day's festivities. That fact alone made Parkman's task that much harder. He not only had to protect the Petrelli's, their guests and legion employees, the safety of his only child was also at stake.

However, Matt was fully confident _nothing_ would get past him or the extensive measures he and his team had put in place to ensure that Mikey Bennett's birthday party goes as smoothly as possible.

Just then, towering above the rest of the crowd of performers, a tall dark man suddenly caught Parkman's keen eye.

Dressed in traditional yet elegantly tailored gypsy garb, his long black hair and perfectly trimmed goatee completed the look. At first glance, he seemed right at home with the circus folk, but to Parkman there something about him that did not bode well with the former law enforcement officer.

Matt quickly singled him out. "You there, step away from the line."

The stranger promptly obeyed and waited for Matt to approach him.

As Parkman looked him over, the man stood quietly.

"State your name and purpose here." Matt demanded in an authoritative tone.

"My name is Pavel Dalmatov," the man affirmed in his thick Russian accent. "And I'm the animal trainer."

Curiosity caused one of Parkman's eyebrows to arch up. "Animal trainer? I didn't see anything on my list this morning about any animals."

Pavel smiled genially as his hand slowly slipped into his jacket. Pulling out a folded piece of paper, he said, "If you will look at this document, you will find that everything is in order. The animal show was to be a _surprise_ for Mr. Linderman's grandson."

Parkman quickly took a hold of the paper being handed to him, but he did not take his eyes off the stranger. There was something awfully familiar about this man, and yet he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

After taking a quick swipe at his mind, much to Matt's disappointment, Pavel's thoughts came back clean.

And yet his eyes told a different story. The supposed animal trainer was hiding something, Matt Parkman was sure of it.

Tearing his gaze away from the dark stranger, Matt scanned the document and to his chagrin found Mr. Linderman's tell-tale signature at the bottom of the page.

Begrudgingly he handed the authorization back to Dalmatov and told him to move along. As he watched the man disappear amongst the crowd, Matt muttered under his breath, "I'm keeping my eyes on you."


	2. Chapter 2

**The Ties that Bind**

Summary: (Sylar/Claire) Sequel to the "Devil's Own".

It's been five years since Claire Bennett gave birth to her baby, a beautiful little boy that she's named Michael. Both mother and son are currently residing inside confining walls the new Petrelli family estate nestled away in an undisclosed location in upper state New York.

So far Mr. Linderman's people have found no trace of Michael's father, the nefarious serial killer, Gabriel Gray, otherwise known as Sylar.

A/N: I own nothing related to Heroes. All of the characters are the property of Tim Kring and NBC.

**Chapter Two**

_Happy Birthday to you!_

_Happy Birthday to you!_

_Happy Birthday, dear Mikey!_

_Happy Birthday to you!_

After the rousing chorus of "Happy Birthday" sung by family and friends, Claire Bennett smiled brightly as she turned to her son. "OK, honey, it's time for you to blow out your candles! And don't forget to make a wish!"

The young mother beamed with pride as she watched her sweet little boy look up at her.

"Don't worry, Mommy. I will!" Mikey assured his Mom with a big grin.

Excitedly, he then turned his attention back to the enormous circus-themed birthday cake to blow out the five flickering candles. Each little stick of wax represented a year of Mikey's young life.

After the candles had effectively been extinguished with a single breath, a round applause soon rang out.

"That's my boy!" said an elated Noah Bennett as he picked up his grandson to give him a hug.

He and his wife Sandra had flown in from Odessa with Claire's brother Lyle to join in the celebration. Sandra and Lyle were very happy and honored that they had been asked to attend the party.

Noah Bennett, on the other hand, was actually shocked to have received the embossed invitation in the mail six weeks earlier considering the bad blood that still existed between him and his employers.

lllll

Linderman and Angela had tried their best over the years to keep the Bennett's and the Petrelli's apart. But thanks in part to Claire's stubborn streak and Peter Petrelli's arm twisting intervention; the lines of communication between father and daughter had always been kept open.

Of course, their continued relationship did not bode well for Nathan Petrelli, since it didn't fit in _his _agenda.

It was almost a laughable situation, considering that the two-faced bastard had refused to even acknowledge Claire's existence all througout her childhood. As far as Noah was concerned, ambition-driven Nathan would sell his own grandmother down the river in order to further his political career! But when word leaked out that the Congressman from New York had actually sired an illegitimate love child in Texas years ago, he had no choice but to face his constituents head on with the truth.

It had been a media circus, that's for sure and for weeks both Claire and Nathan's faces had been plastered on the front pages of every supermarket tabloid. However, thanks to Nathan's handlers, he was quickly able to put his own spin on the near career-killing situation.

It had been decided early on by Linderman and Angela that a news conference had be held to explain away Nathan's actions. It had been a command performance for not only the newly elected Congressman, but for the entire Petrelli clan, including Claire.

With the eyes of a nation upon him, Nathan pleaded with the people that had elected him to hear him out. "I know that many of you are wondering about the recent news regarding my relationship with Claire Bennett. There's also been speculation, ugly rumors and innuendos alluding to infidelity on my part. Please let me assure all of you that _nothing _could be further from the truth!

While it is true that I conceived a child out of wedlock, it happened _years_ before I was married to my beautiful wife Heidi. I didn't even know of Claire's existence until a few weeks ago."

As the flashbulbs of the cameras popped and reporters murmured amongst themselves, Nathan Petrelli paused for dramatic effect. He smiled confidently, basking in the knowledge that the media and more importantly the people of the great state of New York had bought his carefully crafted story.

"But now that I've gotten to know my daughter and seen first hand what a wonderful young lady she's become in my absence, my family and I couldn't be prouder. We have embraced Claire as one of our own."

Then right on cue, Claire herself had emerged from backstage, trotted out like a prized pony by her draconian grandmother for the entire world to see. She smiled and waved at the cameras, responded to the media's questions with her carefully prepared and well rehearsed answers.

Needless to say, the opinion polls had quickly tipped in Nathan's favor.

Noah Bennett, meanwhile, had been extremely saddened by the spectacle unfolding on his television screen. The distraught father had hung his head down in shame.

He had wanted more than anything to spare his adoptive daughter from the trappings of being a Petrelli.

Noah's worst fears were soon realized when the powerful political family, with the exception of Peter, had started to worm their way into every aspect of the Bennett's lives, to get to Claire.

As gesture of goodwill, Bennett was asked to return to Primatech and fill Thompson's position. Astronomical salary... big corner office ... and all of the other perks that went with sitting in the Big Boy's chair. But Noah Bennett still knew a bribe when he saw one. Still...being able to weild that much power without having to answer to anyone except Austin and Angela had been too tempting an offer to pass up.

S_elling your soul these days is much easier than before_, Bennett thought with a wry little smile.

As for Claire, every moment of her life from that moment had been turned into a photo op. Hell…the poor girl's senior prom had transformed itself into a veritable media frenzy. A battle of epic proportions had been waged that night between the voracious paprazzi and the legion of body guards sent in to protect his daughter from any attacks from Sylar. It had been no suprise to Noah in the least that the former cheerleader had had a miserable time.

And a great resentment on Noah's part soon set in. Despite the constant harrassment from the press, he could see that his young and impressionable daughter was being slowly seduced by the limelight and wealth. Being part of such a powerful political dynasty did have its benefits, such as credit cards with unlimited spending limits. In the hands of the wrong teeanager, they could damage their parents credit score within hours at the local mall.

To her credit though, Claire had done her best to resist the lure of money and political influence. Those things had never seemed to sway her too much.

However, when her power of regeneration manifested itself, the young girl had become understandably frightened.

Desperate for answers, she turned to the only father she had ever known. Noah had prayed that this day would never come. Out of fear of losing her entirely, he had been evasive at first and at times down right deceptive. He had lied to his family for so long that it had become second nature to him.

But Bennett had grossly underestimated Claire's resourcefulness. It didn't take long for his teenaged daughter to do some digging and find out what her "Daddy" really did for a living and that there were other people just like her.

When she finally confronted Noah, his shoulders slumped and his heart sank. There would be no more keeping his Claire-Bear in the dark. The time had come to tell her the truth, the entire truth.

Grimly, Noah had looked upon the child that Kaito Nakamura entrusted to his care 16 years earlier. With tears in his eyes, he sat his daughter down and recounted the amazing tale of how she came to be.

He also divulged the secret the Petrelli's had been concealing for many years. Claire had been shocked to learn that Angela, Nathan and Peter had all been endowed with an ability of their own.

At her father's urging, Claire set out to see her birth family to get the answers she so desperately sought about of her origins. They were the only ones that could possibly help Claire understand her power.

So it was with a heavy heart that Noah Bennett sent his precious daughter to New York.

Looking back, it was decision that he regretted to this day…

If Bennett had known then that Claire would soon be abducted by that brain-eating son-of-a-bitch, he would have never let her go.

_I guess the only good thing to have come out of that horrendous situation was Mikey. _

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Mikey, was the apple of his mother's eye. Bright, sweet and endearing, it was hard for Noah to believe that this darling little boy was destined to bring down the greatest evil mankind have ever known.

_Sylar_

Looking at Mikey now, he certainly bore a strong resemblance to the man that had sired him. At first glance, one could argue that he had inherited his dark good looks from the Petrelli's.

With his mop of dark brunette hair, and big brown eyes (too intense for a child of his young age) he could easily pass for either Peter or even Nathan's son.

But there was an overt bashfulness and quiet way about him that was _definitely_ not a Petrelli or even a Linderman trait. Claire could see it every time Mikey gave her one of his timid little smiles. There was no doubt in her mind of whose son he was.

Mikey was the spitting image of Gabriel Gray, a miniature version of the watchmaker's son.

But it wasn't just his appearance that jarred anyone that had known his father. There were also the meticulous mannerisms, the careful scrutiny of his surroundings, and his unnatural fascination with mechanical devices.

Just like his father before him.

But as far as his mother was concerned, that was where the resemblance ended. Claire was hell bent to instill in her son with the same moral values of her own upbringing. She would not repeat the mistake's of Gabriel's mother, Virginia Gray. From what Claire had read about that woman in Sylar's file, it was clear that she had been mentally unstable.

Claire prayed everyday that the madness that had consumed Virginia and eventually corrupted poor Gabriel would not be passed down to Mikey.

She was confident though that by surrounding her own son with the love and security his father never received, Mikey would grow up to be a better man than Gabriel Gray.

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After the birthday cake had been eaten and the party games had been played by the rambunctious tykes, it was now time for Daniel Linderman to make his big announcement.

Standing at the center of the tent with a mischievous glint in his eye, he waited patiently for everyone to quiet down.

"Ladies and gentleman, may I have your attention please?" he asked with the flourish of a showman.

When he was satisfied that all eyes were finally on him, Linderman continued. "Today we have gathered to celebrate my great-grandson's _fifth_ birthday. And to mark this most auspicious of occasions, I've decided to give my boy a very _special_ gift."

Claire, who was currently seated between her adoptive father and her Uncle Peter, suddenly muttered under her breath, "Watch, he's probably going to give Mikey his own petting zoo."

Peter laughed as he said, "If that's the case, we'll have to rename this place the Never Land Ranch. But I'll be damned if I'll let that Jesus Juice drinking pedophile through the front gate!"

As Claire giggled at Peter's off the cuff comment, Mr. Bennett sternly chimed in. "Okay you two cut it out. Let's allow the _old wind bag_ finish his speech."

He then winked at Peter who was smirking at Noah appreciatively. Neither man cared for their boss very much. And they both took great pleasure in poking fun at him behind his back every chance they got.

On occasion, Dr. Mohinder Suresh, Agent Parkman and even Claude Raines joined in on the bashing of Linderman. But the men all knew which side their bread was buttered on so they kept their defamatory comments to a minimum.

In the interim, Linderman brought his declaration to a close. "And so without any further ado, allow me to present to you all the way from the Siberian Tundra, Mr. Pavel Dalmatov and his amazing Bengal Tigers!"

A collective awe struck gasp was suddenly heard throughout the big top tent.

"He can't be serious!" Claire heard her grandmother say. She could tell from Angela's expression that she was just as horrified as everyone else.

"Dad, do something!" Claire pleaded with her foster father. "I don't want Mikey or any of the other kids to get hurt!"

Peter meanwhile telepathically contacted Parkman

_Matt, we have a situation. You'd better get your ass to the tent!_

Agent Parkman was already on the move as he sent his reply.

_On the way boss! What's going on?_

Peter volleyed another thought back at Parkman.

_The old man's finally off his rocker! Did you know he hired an animal trainer with live Bengal tigers?_

After a little while, Matt sheepishly responded.

_Yeah, I know…I'm the one that cleared him at the gate._

Enraged, Peter Petrelli projected his anger with such an intense thought, it gave Parkman an instant migraine.

_You WHAT?! Jesus, Matt, there are little kids here. My nephews and let me remind you, your own son! Just get over here before these animals decide to snack on the guests!_

Peter was seething with rage as he watched Linderman try to dissuade the crowd's fear and concerns. "Now, now everyone calm down! I assure you that the animals you are about to see are very well trained. I've seen the very same act myself a hundred times at my casino, the Corinthian! And there really is no danger!"

Just then a man appeared right behind Mr. Linderman.

Instantaneously he managed to dwarf the casino impresario with his impressive height.

It was plain to see by all, especially the female guests, that he was devilishly handsome. Tall, dark and mysterious, his commanding presence alone quickened the pulse of some of the women. His long shiny black hair was tied back in a pony tail and his goatee made him appear rather roguish.

Smiling seductively, he could sense the adoring stares but there was only one woman's attention he wished to garner. His dark eyes searched the sea of faces until he honed on the one he wanted.

_Claire, you're as beautiful as I remember…maybe even more so._

Then suddenly to his amazement, she became of aware of his intense scrutiny. And for the briefest of moments their gazes met.

_Was that a flash of recognition in the blue depths of her eyes?_

But when he saw her turn away, he was filled with disappointment.

_No matter…before this day is over I will get close to her. And when I do, she will leave with me. Claire will have no choice. Not if she wants to keep our son safe._

Sylar, now in the guise of the late, great Pavel Dalmatov, smiled as he continued to stare at Claire.

Pavel's multiple powers had turned out to be very handy indeed. Sylar had never encountered a person with so many wonderful abilities. He had initially tracked him down to steal his shape-shifting power. But after feasting on his brain, Sylar soon discovered that he also had the gift to block telepathy. The fact that he could also "talk" to animals was a bonus. It was this latter attribute that had made Mr. Dalmatov such a renowned animal trainer.

However, Sylar had really hit the jackpot when he found out about Pavel's ties to Linderman. He couldn't believe his luck. After five long years of watching, waiting and biding his time, he had actually killed someone that could inadvertenly help him find Claire and his son.

Sylar only had to impersonate the tiger tamer for a few short months, performing the charade night after night, until it wasn't long before Linderman himself approached him. The old fart had actually hired him to entertain at his own son's birthday party. Oh, the delicious irony!

He had been given a golden ticket into the Petrelli fortress where he would finally have access to Claire.

And now that he was here... no one was going to stop him from taking his family right out of this place.

And God help any one that tried.


	3. Chapter 3

**The Ties that Bind**

Summary: (Sylar/Claire) Sequel to the "Devil's Own".

It's been five years since Claire Bennett gave birth to her baby, a beautiful little boy that she's named Michael. Both mother and son are currently residing inside confining walls the new Petrelli family estate nestled away in an undisclosed location in upper state New York.

So far Mr. Linderman's people have found no trace of Michael's father, the nefarious serial killer, Gabriel Gray, otherwise known as Sylar.

A/N: I own nothing related to Heroes. All of the characters belong to Tim Kring and NBC.

**Chapter Three**

Matt Parkman arrived just outside of the tent only to be confronted by a seething Peter Petrelli.

"What took you so goddamned long?" Peter inquired heatedly.

Parkman immediately offered up his apologies. "Sorry, Boss. But in case you've forgotten, I was on the other side of the compound. And that's not exactly a stone's throw away."

Narrowing his eyes, Peter glared at his Security Chief. "Never mind that now, just get in there and make sure things don't get out of hand! This situation needs to be contained using _conventional_ security methods. There's no need to freak out the 'straights'. I don't want any of the SG's using their abilities unless I give the order! Got it?"

"Got it, sir." Matt nodded, acknowledging his instructions before entering the enormous tent.

As soon as Parkman made his way inside, he was hit with wave after wave of fearful, anxious thoughts radiating from the crowd of spectators.

_I need to get out here, _thought one frantic guest.

And yet another thought angrily_, Linderman is definitely going to hear from my attorney! How could he put his guests in danger like this?_

_Where's my Mommy,_ a frightened little girl's mind cried out after having lost her mother in the crowd.

Filled with sudden anxiety, Matt's eyes quickly scanned the perimeter. He was instantly relieved to find his wife, Janice and their son, little Matt sitting at a safe distance away from the center ring that Mr. Linderman and his mystery guest now occupied.

There also were no signs of the man-eating beasts, but he could hear their hungry snarls and growls from backstage.

Noah Bennett, upon seeing Parkman, immediately broke away from his daughter and approached the former law enforcement officer. Not wanting to be outdone, Congressman Petrelli left his family's side to have a word with the Head of Security himself.

Roughly shoving past Noah, Nathan quickly pounced on Matt, not mincing any words. "Parkman, what in the hell do we pay you for? You only have one job: to keep this family SAFE! But from the looks of things, you can't even do that!

I'll have you know that I voiced my concerns about you to my Mother and Linderman early on. Face it Matt, you weren't cut out to be cop then! And you're certainly not equipped to be a glorified security guard now!"

Outraged by Nathan's scathingly arrogant diatribe against his colleague, Noah Bennett quickly came to the embattled Agent's defense. "That's enough, Nathan! If there's anyone to blame for this debacle, it's your obviously _deranged_ father! Who in their right mind hires a fucking tiger act for a kiddy party? And besides, the last time I checked, Matt works for me and your brother, so back off, _Congressman!_"

Matt, grateful for Noah's support, was definitely amused by these two very powerful juggernauts squaring off with each other. It was even more gratifying to see that Nathan, not Noah, was the first to concede defeat.

"Okay, Bennett. It's certainly your prerogative to work with incompetents! But this is my home and _my _family! And I will not stand by while they're devoured like human-sized containers _Fancy Feast_ by some overgrown alley-cats!"

Smirking contemptuously Bennett fumed, "Overgrown cats your 'daddy' saw fit to bring in here in the first place!" He then pushed up his horn-rimmed glasses, securing them more tightly onto the ridge of his nose.

"Nathan, please! You're not doing anyone any good by standing here and having a pissing contest! Put it away!" All three men turned to see a very incensed Heidi Petrelli glaring at her husband with hellfire blazing in her eyes.

"That goes for you too, Noah Joshua Bennett! Shame on you! You apologize to Nathan this instant or you'll find yourself sleeping on that lumpy couch in the den when we get home!" Sandra Bennett, now standing directly in front of her own husband, chimed in for good measure.

She had sauntered up to the dueling men a few minutes earlier, along with Heidi. Crossing her arms in front of her chest, she waited for her hesitant spouse to comply.

Heidi did the same. "You too, Nathan or a fate worse than DEATH awaits you!"

As for Matt Parkman, it was all he could do not to burst out laughing at the two henpecked men. A moment later, much to his great relief, he saw a member of his security team waving him over. Nodding at Bennett, he quickly took his leave.

"Boy am I glad I married Janice," Matt muttered to himself as he scurried away like a rat leaving a sinking ship.

He almost felt sorry for Nathan and Noah.

_Almost. _

In the meanwhile, one agonizing minute had ticked by followed by a second.

Sighing with impatience Heidi finally said, "Well, I'm waiting…"

With a roll of his eyes Nathan begrudgingly gave in. Extending his hand toward his paternal rival he grumbled under his breath, "I'm sorry, Bennett."

When she saw that her husband would not take the Congressman's hand, Sandra Bennett nudged him forward with her shoulder.

"Hell's bells, Noah shake the man's hand and say you're sorry too!"

Whining like a second-grader, Bennett looked at his wife. "Do I have to?"

"Two words: LUMPY COUCH! Now do it!"

Swiftly, Noah Bennett grasped Petrelli's hand within his own and firmly shook it. Then just as quickly he let it go. "Sorry," Bennett managed to say, his male pride pretty much deflated at this point.

Heidi and Sandra then turned to each other with smug smiles of satisfaction plastered across both of their faces.

Standing on her tip-toes, Sandra kissed her husband on the cheek then said, "Good, now that you boys have made nice, get this tiger situation taken care of, _pronto_!"

Then the women turned and walked away from their husbands with a little more swagger in their steps.

"Holy Hell, Bennett, why didn't you tell me you married Hitler's daughter?"

Smiling, Noah answered the exasperated politico, "Hey, buddy, you're wife's no slouch! She's got your balls in a sling, that's for sure!"

Nathan, trying to keep his anger contained for his wife's sake, growled his response. "Never mind about where Heidi's got _my_ balls! We've got a job to do!"

"For once, we actually agree on something."

lllll

Daniel Linderman tried but had failed miserably to maintain order. The situation had steadily unraveled right before his very eyes. Several of the guests, with their families in tow, had started to leave in droves. Many of them were important business associates or contacts, so their departures did not sit well with him.

"Gentleman, ladies I implore to you to stay."

A moment later he felt a heavy hand fall onto his shoulder. Looking behind him, Linderman's eyes widened when he saw 'Pavel' smiling down at him.

"Allow me, Mr. Linderman…If I can domesticate the savage beasts in my care, then I should have no problem _taming_ your guests."

Surprised and a little perturbed by the young man's ballsy stance, Daniel took him up on his offer nevertheless.

Smirking sardonically, Linderman quickly said, "Very well, Mr. Dalmatov, you're most welcome to try."

'Pavel' immediately stepped forward to address the crowd. Standing perfectly still, his unfathomable gaze swept through the audience, making direct eye contact with as many people as he could. His weighty stare had an almost hypnotic affect on all that had been exposed to it.

Linderman, to his amazement, could now see that some of the deserters were actually returning to their seats. It was as if 'Dalmatov' had willed it to happen somehow, without uttering a single word.

Awestruck by the man's ability to quell the guests, so quickly, Mr. Linderman chuckled to himself.

_Like modern-day Rasputin, you've managed to completely mesmerize these idiots! Extraordinary, Mr. Dalmatov, simply extraordinary! Well, it appears that I may have underestimated you. With such undisputable talents, you might make a fine addition to the Organization… _

And when the Russian at last opened his mouth to speak, the resonance of his deep rich baritone laced with a lyrical Siberian accent only added to his ominous mystique.

"My good people, I must _insist_ that you do as Mr. Linderman asks. No harm will befall any of you, I swear it. The majestic creatures you are about to see have been thoroughly trained and are completely under _my _control! Please, return to your seats and I promise to give you a performance that you will _never_ forget!"

Miraculously, the departing guests eventually did _exactly_ as they were told by quietly going back to their original seats in the spectator stands under the big top.

Impressed by 'Pavel's' silver-tongued persuasion, Linderman cast an admiring gaze upon him.

"Well done, my boy! You have them eating out of the palm of your hand! After this all over, I'd like to discuss a more _lucrative_ opportunity with you."

The corners of 'Dalmatov's' full-lipped mouth curled up into a knowing leer.

"I'd like that very much, Mr. Linderman. But first, the show must go on!"

Linderman nodded his consent. "By all means, I shall keep you no further." The older man then returned to his seat next to an extremely furious Angela Petrelli.

Feeling quite cocky and self-assured, he was certain that he could enjoy the rest of the party with Angela, now that the rather dicey situation had straightened itself out. However, when he tried to reach for her hand, she quickly recoiled from his touch.

Feigning innocence, the aging impresario started to pout. "Are you angry with me, my pet?"

Trying not to display the rage that was churning inside her like molten lava, Angela glanced over at the man seated next to her with the sweetest of smiles. "Cut the crap, Daniel. You know perfectly well that I am. However, I don't want to discuss this right now. But mark my words, _sweetums_, you WILL get a HUGE piece of my mind right along with a foot straight up your ass when this party is over! Is that understood?"

After being verbally thrashed by such a formidable woman, Linderman quickly shrank in his seat like a scolded child.

lllll

A few minutes afterward, a reverent hush fell over the crowd as an enormous red velvet curtain suddenly dropped in front of the center ring. Dalmatov quickly disappeared behind it.

Moments later, when the curtain was lifted, two of the most magnificent looking felines were finally revealed to an astounded audience. They were the rarest of the big cats,_ Panthera Tigris_, or as they are better known, Royal Bengal Tigers.

Treacherously beautiful, each tiger had a shiny luxurious looking coat of snowy white fur with stripes of ebony running through it. With their eerie crystal blue eyes, they stared out into the crowd of expectant spectators as they each stood perched on brightly painted wooden stands on either side of their master.

Carefully but affectionately, 'Pavel' laid a hand on top of their enormous heads.

A wide smile spread across the trainer's lips as he addressed the crowd. "Ladies, gentleman and children of all ages…I would like you to meet Sasha and Dimitri. Go on my Darlings and say hello to the nice people."

Promptly obeying her master, Sasha was the first to "greet" the captivated audience with a mighty roar that reverberated throughout the tent.

Next it was Dimitri's turn. As he let out a deep ferocious growl, his lips pulled back, exposing two rows of razor-sharp teeth that made the audience gasp in fear.

'Dalmatov', pleased with his animal's performance thus far, gave them each a treat as he petted their thick fur.

Then with a sequence of hand signals and verbal commands, he expertly took the beasts through their well-rehearsed routine.

Much to audiences' delight, they were completely enthralled by the many agile tricks that the tigers executed such as jumping through hoops of fire, standing on their hind legs and dancing in time to the lively Russian folk music played over the PA system. Sasha and Dimitri were of course rewarded after each spectacular feat by deafening applause.

Looking down at her son, Claire Bennett smiled. She could tell that he was actually enjoying the show. He was certainly impressed by the tigers. But then again, what little boy wouldn't be? Mikey was at an age when most boys were extremely fascinated with dinosaurs, lions and other nasty beasties.

And now that he had two live tigers performing right in front of him, it must have been a dream fully realized for the curious 5-year old.

Claire, also found herself finally having a good time, now that the initial crisis had apparently been diverted. Of course, that didn't mean that her grandfather was off the hook. Claire had overheard what her grandmother had said to Linderman.

_And after Angela gets through reaming dear old "Grandpa", he's gonna have to deal with me,_ Claire thought bitterly.

But she had to admit that the day hadn't turned out to be so bad after all. The kids certainly had had a grand old time and the tiger show went off without a hitch thanks to the obvious skills of their trainer.

And speaking of the trainer… ever since their eyes had met briefly, Claire couldn't stop herself from staring at him. In fact she was so captivated by his handsome persona and overwhelming charisma that she barely registered what was going on throughout the performance.

_God, that Pavel is certainly easy on the eyes_, she thought wistfully.

That's when Claire became painfully aware of her serious lack of a love life. Of course being a full-time university student and Mom didn't help matters.

Although she didn't regret for one moment experiencing the fulfillment of motherhood, these past five years had been lonely ones.

Oh, she had had her share of suitors. What beautiful young girl like her didn't? However most of the times she had been asked out, Claire was either pressed for time or entirely too exhausted.

As Mikey got older though, she did finally manage to go on couple of dates. They had been fellow students that attended Columbia with her. But try as she might to enjoy herself, Claire had never allowed any of her potential suitors get past the first date. And it wasn't that the guys she had gone out with weren't handsome, nice or even rich in some cases. It was just unfortunate for them that they all had shared one fatal flaw…

…they just weren't HIM.


	4. Chapter 4

**The Ties that Bind**

Summary: (Sylar/Claire) Sequel to the "Devil's Own".

It's been five years since Claire Bennett gave birth to her baby, a beautiful little boy that she's named Michael. Both mother and son are currently residing inside confining walls the new Petrelli family estate nestled away in an undisclosed location in upper state New York.

So far Mr. Linderman's people have found no trace of Michael's father, the nefarious serial killer, Gabriel Gray, otherwise known as Sylar.

A/N: I own nothing related to Heroes. All characters are the property of Tim Kring and NBC.

**Chapter Four**

Sylar, in the stolen semblance of Pavel Dalmatov, was graciously bowing to the overly enthusiastic audience. For all intents and purposes he appeared to be the consummate entertainer, terribly grateful for the _third_ curtain call he had received after his presentation had come to a dramatic end.

The pleasant smile spreading across the full lips of his masquerade never once betrayed the growing frustration Sylar was currently feeling. He had to find a way to get close to Claire, talk to her and warn her of Linderman's true plans for their son. However, having to heed every goddamned encore wasn't helping him in the least.

Throughout the performance Sylar had kept his gaze fixed on his mark, determined not to lose sight of her. Straight away, the serial murderer had been captivated by her easy smile, her hearty laugh and the mirth dancing in the blue of her eyes. Wanting to hear more of the sound he had been painfully been deprived of, Sylar drowned out the rest of world as he activated his hyper-sensitive audible range.

The girlish giggles he had missed so much rekindled the passion that had lain dormant for five lonesome years. The memories of what they had shared together were now being called to the forefront by the resonance of Claire's laughter.

Closing his eyes, Sylar's mind started to drift back into the past to re-live the week that had changed his life forever. Very soon he found himself vividly recalling that run down hotel room in Montana, Claire's soft body and her fiery kisses.

lllll

At first, Sylar's primary intentions had been toy with Claire…break her spirit, then force the indestructible cheerleader to submit to his dominant will. The single-minded objective to fulfill the prophetic vision he had painted which depicted Claire Bennett as his perfect mate, the broodmare of the future, had superseded all rational thought.

However, as luck would have it, it was Sylar that had become undone by his intended victim. After their first questionable encounter, it was Claire that had broken down his defenses, tearing down the walls of Sylar's fortress of indifference.

Behind the false bravado, Claire had seen who he truly was, an insecure and lonely man hungry for the acceptance long denied him. She had recognized a kindred spirit.

"I'm just like you, you know." She had whispered to him one night after he had gotten out of the shower. Sylar had found her sitting on the edge of the bed staring at him with her soulful eyes.

"Oh really?" he scoffed. "How so?"

"There was a time in my life when all I wanted was to be special. To have my moment in the spotlight, to be _different!_ Boy, did get more than I bargained for, huh?"

When she started to cry, Sylar from some inexplicable reason had been moved by her sadness. It had struck a cord deep within him. And before the next tear drop fell, he was already by her side.

He wanted to comfort her, but he didn't know how. Sylar hadn't had much practice with such things as friendship or interacting with members of opposite sex, at least not in that capacity.

Carefully he asked, "Claire, do you regret having your power?"

Without hesitation, she said, "Yes."

Bewildered by her answer he turned to look at the small girl sitting beside him. "Why?" Sylar asked simply.

"I'm more alone now than ever before. So are you."

Sylar was suddenly indignant by her presumptions. "You don't know what you're talking about, Claire," he warned with a growl.

The former cheerleader had leapt off the bed to stand in front of him. With her hands placed on her hips, her blue eyes flashed with anger.

"Oh no? Then why haven't you killed me yet, Sylar? You could have taken my power at any time. But instead you've kept me alive! Why is that? Do like using me for your perverse amusement? Or is there something more to all of this?"

Gritting his teeth, Sylar seethed with rage. Claire had hit a dangerous nerve. "I've already told you, little girl. You're alive because of the prophecy I envisioned. That's it!"

Smirking at him, Claire retorted. "Bullshit! You and I both know what you said the first time you _raped_ me!"

Now it was Sylar's turn to bolt off the bed. Scowling at the haughty little blonde, he menacingly he towered over her small frame. Reaching out, his large hands had roughly grasped her shoulders as his dark eyes bored into hers.

"Watch it, Claire! I'd shut up if I were you!"

But Claire would not be intimidated. Instead she decided to push the envelope.

"_I love you, Claire_," she cruelly mocked him in a singsong tone.

"Shut up," Sylar growled dangerously.

However, Claire had been relentless. "C'mon, don't you remember, _Gabriel_?"

Sylar's eyes suddenly snapped open with surprise as his grip on her shoulders tightened. "What did you call me?"

Claire smirked triumphantly, "I called you Gabriel! That _is_ your name, right? Gabriel Gray, I read it in your file."

Images of his brief captivity flashed before his eyes. Looking at Claire now, she was very much her father's daughter. She had that same condescending tone to her voice and an arrogant air about her that strongly reminded Sylar of his former jailer. Angered, he swiftly pulled up by her shoulders until her bare feet dangled in mid-air.

Lowering his stubble laden face to hers, he declared in a thunderous roar, "My name is SYLAR!"

Afterward, he had set her back down onto the ugly green carpet half expecting Claire to crumble, to breakdown and cry. Instead she looked at him defiantly with those sapphire orbs of hers and said resolutely, "Kiss me, Gabriel."

Had she lost her mind? She wanted him to actually kiss her? Still, he couldn't help lowering his eyes to her perfect little mouth, with those plump lips just begging to be ravaged. And when she coyly licked her lips, Sylar no longer cared about the state of her sanity. Amazingly, Claire had not stopped him from touching her when his trembling fingers had slowly, reverently moved away from her shoulders to caress her flawless face.

"Kiss me, Gabriel." Claire demanded again. And this time Sylar knew he had lost the battle he had waged with her and more importantly, with himself.

A ragged sigh of melancholy inadvertently slipped past his lips as he recalled the turbulent way their mouths had literally collided together. Hungrily, their lips and tongues had teased and explored until his arousal was at fever pitch. Ultimately, when Sylar had joined his body to Claire's, they had moved in perfect unison, giving each other pleasure beyond imagining. And for one glorious moment, the fearsome monster dwelling within Sylar's blackened soul had been humbled by the sincerity of Claire's devotion, her tender touch and the kindness in her heart.

During that week, Claire Bennett had grown to trust Sylar, she had accepted him, loved him despite his shortcomings. And Sylar in turn, had lost his heart to her. She had won him over with her unassuming charm and natural effervescence. And he decided to grant her the right to call him by his rightful name.

Besides, he loved the way it made her lips move when she said "Gabriel".

Shockingly, the ever-present craving for power had started to wither and die the more time he spent with Claire. For once in his miserable existence he felt at peace and more like his old self before Chandra Suresh had walked into his shop and changed his life forever.

"Let's run away, tonight," he remembered telling Claire with an edge of desperate hope in his voice. It was early morning with the sun just peeking over the Montana horizon. But they had been wide awake for hours, lying in bed face to face, skin to skin lost in each other's eyes.

"Where would we go?" Claire had asked quietly, her bright blue eyes frantically searched her lover's guarded gaze.

Pulling her closer to him, his fingers had begun to trace out lazy patterns up and down her bare back, making the young girl shudder in his arms.

With a confident little smirk, Sylar replied, "We'll leave the country…go south to Mexico, maybe even South America."

Although the idea of life on the run with a wanted man didn't necessarily appeal to Claire, she knew that it would be the only way they could be together.

Looking thoughtfully at Sylar for a minute, she slowly returned his smile. "Great, we're going south of the border. And the only Spanish I know is '_yo quiero Taco Bell'_."

Her adorable attempt at humor made Sylar guffaw out loud. Kissing the tip of her nose he said, "Don't worry, we'll pick up a few books on the way. Thanks to my eidetic memory, I'll have you speaking _español _in no time."

When he began to kiss her neck, Claire had sighed happily, "_Si, si __señor_."

Chuckling against her throat he replied, "See? You're learning already."

Lifting his face away from the warm curve of neck, Sylar crushed his lips to hers, rolling Claire onto her back. He ravaged her mouth with deep fervent kisses that drove the young girl to the heights of pleasure.

Willingly, Claire opened herself to him, allowing Sylar's long pointed tongue to probe and explore the sweetness of her clinging mouth. His hands meanwhile had drifted down her torso to knead and caress the mounds of her firm breasts, teasing the nipples between his fingers until they hardened like two small pebbles. Moaning wantonly, Claire had arched her back off the bed, pushing her flesh further into his demanding touch.

Kissing a hot wet trail to her heaving bosom, it wasn't long before Sylar began to suckle greedily at one breast and then the other. Claire hissed between clenched teeth as she threaded her nimble fingers through his dark spiky hair, anchoring him to her upper body.

Drunk with lust, Sylar could feel his heavy engorged manhood aching to be inside his sweet Claire. She wanted it just as badly. He could sense her desire. Sylar could actually hear it in the beating of her heart, its frenzied tempo like music to his ears.

And when he heard her husky voice say, "I want you so much, Gabriel." He could endure no more.

The hardened criminal had become putty in her hands. Throwing his head back, he slipped his hands underneath Claire, lifting and cupping her firm buttocks as he slowly entered her body. He groaned with rampant desire when her velvet walls instinctively clenched around him.

The moment Claire's smooth legs encircle his waist, Sylar, overcome with emotion could hardly contain himself.

He whispered hotly, "Oh, Claire. I love you." All the while his dark brown eyes adoringly gazed down at the golden-haired goddess lying beneath him.

Smiling up at Sylar, Claire had placed her hand on his unshaven face whispering earnestly, "I love you too."

Soon after their mutual declarations, the room had been filled with the sounds of their lustful moans as the morning ignited with passion.

A few of hours later, the amorous couple had finally decided take a much needed breather. Neither Sylar nor Claire wanted to disengage themselves completely from the other, so they had kept their bodies, permeated with the glistening sweat of their recent exertions, entwined. Their breathing had been erratic, taking in desperate gulps of air as they had lain together exhausted but happy…

Then just moments later the outside world came crashing in.

To Sylar's complete surprise, Noah Bennett and his power sapping flunky, the Haitian had barged into their private sanctuary to take back his daughter and hurt the man, which in Bennett's eyes, had defiled her.

With nostrils flaring, the incensed father had cried out indignantly before pulling the trigger, over and over again until he had fired every bullet from his gun into Sylar's back.

Claire's sobbing screams had been the last sounds he heard before everything faded to black.

lllll

Looking at Claire now, Sylar recalled their brief time together and was stricken with sadness. She had been cruelly wrenched out of his arms and out of his life. But his anguish had only just begun.

Bennett had seen to that.

Astoundingly, Sylar had somehow survived the multiple gunshot wounds…only to have his body and mind tortured to the very limits of his pain threshold by the Company.

On the other side of that two-way mirror, Sylar had been mindful the ominous presence of a vengeful Noah Bennett looking on as his favorite lab rat had screamed in agony.

For two straight months he had been disassembled, his body pried open like one of the many timepieces he had repaired during his former life as a watchmaker. The very essence of his existence had been meticulously, painfully analyzed and probed.

And yet, the serial killer had remained strong and defiant. His perseverance had directly flown into the face of the man that had tried to break him.

"Is that the best you can do, Bennett?" Sylar had sneered contemptuously at his subjugator.

Restrained to that cold metal slab, his body had been just been subjected to another round of cruel experiments. Battered, broken and bruised, he didn't appear to be much of a threat to the man wearing those dreadful horned rimmed glasses.

Bennett only smiled at him. And then in walked the Haitian…

"You remember my friend here, don't you Mr. Gray?"

Sylar turned to look at the silent bald man with the ebony skin but chose to say nothing.

Undisturbed by Sylar's apparent indifference, Bennett continued to smile his stupid shit-eating grin. "The Haitian is going to help you forget all about my daughter and what you did to her, you rotten bastard!"

Realizing the horrible implications of the impending mind erasure, Sylar began to shake his head back and forth in a sign of refusal. For the first time since his captivity he had pleaded with Claire's father to leave his memories of her intact. "No, please. Bennett, don't do this. I love her!"

Infuriated by Sylar's inferences regarding his precious daughter, Noah Bennett abruptly loomed over his detainee. Slamming his fists down on either side of his head, Bennett seethed. "Don't you DARE tell me how you feel for Claire, you sick fuck! Because of you, she's confused and heartbroken! Hers is the worse case of Stockholm Syndrome I've ever seen! And now due to her condition, we can't even extract her memories of what happened because it would be too traumatizing!"

Sylar was immediately panic-stricken.

"_Condition_, what condition? What the fuck are you talking about, Bennett? What's wrong with Claire? Tell me, goddamn it, or so help me God I'll rip your head clean off your body! What did you _fuckers_ do to her?"

Bennett quickly cast a hesitant glance at his partner.

Sylar didn't like the look that had passed between them and he could sense there was something terribly wrong.

"Oh God, Claire is dead, isn't she? You killed her!" a wild-eyed Sylar had erroneously blurted out.

It was at that precise moment that Bennett struck out at him, punching him square in the jaw.

"She's _pregnant_, you cocksucker! She's pregnant with _your_ baby! Believe me, I wanted nothing more than to erase every trace of you from her mind, but we're afraid of what that might do to her. And we don't know how the Haitian's power would affect her unborn child! So we're going to do the next best thing. We're wiping the slate clean with you so you'll never want to see Claire again!"

Turning away from the fearful Sylar, Bennett faced the Haitian to give him his next set of instructions. "Go deep and clean him out! I don't want him to remember _anything_, do you understand?"

The Haitian acknowledged his orders with a mute nod.

As the amnesia-inducing man started to methodically approach, something inside Sylar's mind irrevocably snapped. He didn't know what unseen force had caused the sudden and surprising surge of power, but now was not the time to question it.

Tapping into his arsenal of stolen abilities, Sylar called upon his most formidable one: telekinesis. With his mind he quickly unleashed himself from the metallic manacles around his wrists and ankles. Quickly, he sat up then extended an arm out with deadly aim. Then before his astonished captors could restrain him again, Sylar's power levitated the very same surgical instruments that had been utilized to cause him pain. With just a twitch of his fingers, he had sent the sharpen implements flying through the air toward their intended target.

Summarily, the Haitian had been viciously killed, impaled against one of the walls of the examination room. His dead body had still been convulsing as rivulets of blood flowed out of him to pool to the floor below.

As Noah Bennett gawked at the gruesome sight, he scrambled to reach the panic button. But Sylar had anticipated that move so he sent a chair soaring toward Bennett, effectively incapacitating him before he could do Sylar more harm.

But the bastard was still alive, and Sylar wanted more than anything to finish Bennett off. However, when he heard the wailing of the sirens throughout the compound, Sylar knew he had to make his escape. So he stalked the halls of the OWI, melting doors and killing anyone that had dared to get in his way.

Once he was free, Sylar had gone into hiding to plot his revenge. He had also vowed to rescue Claire and their unborn child by any means necessary. For a long time he had evaded recapture, emerging only when he felt the irresistable urge to collect more powers.

Sylar had lain low and bided his time.

And now, after all the agonizing days he had spent waiting, hoping for just a glimpse of her, Sylar was finally just a few feet away from his Claire and their son.

As he looked upon the dark-haired little boy he had sired with Claire, Sylar smiled.

_Don't worry, Mikey. Daddy's here to take you home._


	5. Chapter 5

**The Ties that Bind**

Summary: (Sylar/Claire) Sequel to the "Devil's Own".

It's been five years since Claire Bennett gave birth to her baby, a beautiful little boy that she's named Michael. Both mother and son are currently residing inside confining walls the new Petrelli family estate nestled away in an undisclosed location in upper state New York.

So far Mr. Linderman's people have found no trace of Michael's father, the nefarious serial killer, Gabriel Gray, otherwise known as Sylar.

A/N: I own nothing related to Heroes. All characters are the property of Tim Kring and NBC.

**Chapter Five**

_Hours later…_

"So, Mr. Dalmatov, tell me. Have you always possessed this extraordinary ability to domesticate our four-legged friends? It would appear that you have some sort of sway over the two-legged variety as well. How truly f_ascinating_…" A glint of roguish curiosity flashed within the sapphire depths of Daniel Linderman's steady gaze as he tried to size up his potential recruit.

After Mikey's party had ended, Linderman had made a grand gesture of inviting Mr. Dalmatov to dinner with the Petrelli's that evening. To his pleasant surprise, the Russian had accepted his offer to dine with prestigious family and their most important benefactor.

Angela, of course, had raised some objections, as did Peter and Nathan. But after Linderman delicately explained the potential benefits of trying to befriend a man such as Pavel Dalmatov, the family shelved their protestations… for the moment.

The Russian's talents, if exploited in the right way, could certainly be asset to the Company. All Daniel had to do now was ask the right questions. Eventually he'd find out what the man's weaknesses were and when the moment arose, he would use the information against him.

There had to be _something_ he could use to "persuade" his young friend to join his organization...promises of untold wealth perhaps…or access to the most delightful illegal pharmaceuticals at Linderman's disposal.

Or maybe the temptations of the flesh were more his cup of tea.

Women…men, it was a little hard to tell just by looking at Dalmatov. But judging from his commanding presence and his almost irresistible magnetism with members of both sexes, maybe he had grown bored with easy conquests and preferred something a little more on the _exotic_ side. Whatever Dalmatov's proclivities were, they didn't bother a man like Linderman. He himself was a child of the Sixties and at one time a very vocal advocate of the Free Love Movement before he got drafted to fight the Viet Cong.

lllll

Sylar, meanwhile, was enjoying the luxurious sensation of sitting in a ridiculously comfortable overstuffed leather chair. He was casually puffing on a sweet smelling after-dinner Cuban cigar as his other hand leisurely held a snifter of Napoleon brandy. Smiling charmingly at his seemingly cordial host, he raised his glass to him before taking a well-calculated sip of the fine liquor.

After savoring its full-bodied essence, Sylar protested most graciously, "Please, Mr. Linderman." By employing his power of vocal mimicry, the serial murderer had easily infused the right amount warmth and sociability into his adopted Slavic-Ukrainian accent. His true intention, however, was to lull the doddering old fool into a false sense of security.

"There truly is no need for such formality. Please call me Pavel. And thank you for the cigar. I haven't smoked a _Cohiba _since my father worked for the _Kremlin_. May I ask how you came about these? I thought these little beauties were considered illegal in America."

That little gesture of feigned humility just earned Sylar broad conspiratorial smile from Daniel Linderman.

"They were a birthday present from Fidel himself," he explained rather proudly. "Let's just say that _my_ organization doesn't share the same foreign policy with the White House. I strongly believe that we should stay on friendly terms with _all _nations."

Hearing Linderman toot his own proverbial horn was revolting, but Sylar did his best to appear fascinated as the windbag regaled and marveled over his own accomplishments.

_God, he is making this so easy! What a conceited moron,_ Sylar thought unkindly.

Like the true master thespian he had become, the former watchmaker made a show of appearing highly interested in his host's overblown exploits. Meanwhile, Sylar made it a point to continue lay the bullshit on nice and thick, successfully convincing Linderman that he was exactly who he said he was.

"I truly am overwhelmed by your courteous generosity. You have made me feel most welcome. But I must tell you that I am a simple man, with even simpler needs. I did not come here today looking for any 'lucrative' offers from you or your lovely family.

My only intention was to entertain. And now that I've done that, it is time for me to return home."

Daniel was quick to express his extreme disappointment. "Leaving us so soon? So sorry to hear that, I was hoping you'd stay here at the compound a little longer."

"I too am sorry to leave your most hospitable company. But you see my precious animals are already en route back to Nevada. And I am scheduled to catch the red-eye to Las Vegas tonight to ensure that everything is ready for Sasha and Dimitri's arrival."

"But my dear young man, certainly you must have an assistant that could see to the care of those magnificent beasts until you return," Linderman suggested.

Wanting to practice his Russian bit, Sylar politely declined, "_Spa__si__ba,_ your offer is most generous. But I must get to the airport soon, or I will miss my flight. _Dasvi__dan__ja,_ Mr. Linderman"

As Sylar slowly rose from his chair, Daniel Linderman absolutely refused to take "no" for an answer. So he resorted to doing what he did best in situations like this. He good-naturedly yet resolutely pulled rank on the unwilling young man, gently reminding him _exactly_ to whom he owed his allegiance to.

"Mr. Dalmatov…I mean, Pavel. I understand that you've just renewed your playing contract with the _Corinthian,_ correct?"

Sylar, keeping up his charade, pretended to be dismayed. "_Da, _it has just been extended for the next five years. And rehearsals for the new show are scheduled to begin on Monday, hence my urgency to return. Opening night is only a few weeks away and there is still so much to do."

Smiling like the cat that just swallowed the canary, Mr. Linderman responded with, "Surely you can take two weeks for yourself, Pavel. I hope you don't mind, but I took a peek at your employment record and I was appalled by what I found! You haven't taken an extended vacation in over three years! Not even when the show was in hiatus over the summer.

As your employer, it concerns me greatly that you've refused to take the time for rest and relaxation! So you've left me with no other option."

Confused, the younger man peered into the aging impresario's eyes searching for an answer. "What do you mean by 'no other option'?"

Daniel gave the Russian a knowing smile as he replied, "As you were freshening up for dinner this evening, I took the liberty of making a few calls. The proper arrangements have already been made to ensure that your _darlings_ will be well cared for and trained in your absence."

As if right on cue, Sylar's eyes flew open in the most perfect imitation of an astonished expression. If truth be told, it was a flawlessly executed performance.

_God, I really should get an Oscar! Too bad the Academy doesn't hand out awards to fugitive murderers. Shame… I have my acceptance speech all ready._

When the overly confident Linderman saw what he mistook as a hint of angry rebellion within the fathomless eyes of his intended quarry, he swiftly went in for the kill in true predatory fashion.

"Besides, I don't have to remind you that it'll be my autograph signed at the bottom of those very _hefty_ paychecks you'll be receiving every week. That is until your contact runs out. So I'm sure you understand my insistence that you stay on here just a little while longer. Two weeks should be sufficient, yes? As my guest of course, you will want for nothing."

Most people would have been demoralized by Daniel Linderman's cunning manipulation and strong-arm tactics. But Sylar wasn't most people. Crediting his brilliant acting skills, Linderman had played right into his hands…just as he had planned all along.

"Very well, Mr. Linderman, you win. But I must tell you that _your _powers of persuasion are quite impressive. Are sure you're not ex-KGB?"

A humorless little laugh slipped past the older man's lips as he dryly replied, "No. But that didn't stop me from becoming intimately acquainted with the hierarchy at the Kremlin when the Soviets were in power."

He then let out a long despondent sigh. With a nostalgic twinkle in his eye Daniel Linderman said wistfully, "God, how I miss the Cold War. You knew where you stood with your enemies then. Nowadays, you have to deal with legions of faceless suicidal madmen, blowing themselves up for a misguided cause. _Jihad_ indeed! Oh well, if you'll follow me out of the study, I'll make sure that Mrs. Ballew, our housekeeper, shows you to the guest quarters."

Bowing gracefully before his host, an apparently humbled Pavel Dalmatov immediately expressed his gratitude. "Thank you, Mr. Linderman. You are most kind".

As both men exited the ostentatiously decorated room, Linderman quickly turned to the younger man that towered above him. "Pavel, allow me to extend you the same courtesy you so kindly offered me a moment ago. I insist you call me Daniel."

Nodding his head, Sylar acquiesced. "As you wish… _Daniel_."

Sylar felt rather pleased with himself. His strategy, so far, was going swimmingly. A self-assured smile spread across the fleshy lips of his disguise as he proceeded to follow Claire's grandfather into the main corridor of the house.

_God, the man is dense! He has no idea he's just invited the fox into the henhouse. And by the time he finds out, it'll be too late! _

And the old codger will have no one to blame but himself. Because of his grandiose posturing and overblown ego, Daniel Linderman had inadvertently granted known serial killer, Gabriel Gray, an all-access pass to Claire and Mikey.

_Perfect._

lllll

"Okay, kiddo. It's lights out for you." Claire Bennett dutifully told her son. A tender smiled graced her face as she tucked Mikey into his bed, all nice and snug.

"But Mommy, you promised to read me a story," the dark-haired boy sleepily reminded his mother.

Suppressing a yawn, Claire gently brushed the hair out her son's drooping eyes.

"I know, sweetie," she acknowledged. "But Mommy is very tired. I've got to get up to go to school in the morning and you have to go to day camp."

At the mention of the institution he despised most in the world, Mikey's lips curled up into a familiar yet adorable little pout.

His mother had no clue that Mikey had fallen prey to the cruel taunts and teasing from his fellow campers. In recent weeks the heckling had become increasingly worse, especially after he started wearing corrective eyeglasses to help with his newly diagnosed astigmatism.

Names like "Four-Eyes" and "Doofus" had been callously hurled at him by the boys while the girls would giggle, like a pack cackling hyenas, whenever the beleaguered boy walked by.

Because of this, Mikey _hated_ his new eyewear. The lenses, thick and cumbersome, magnified his chocolate brown eyes to three times their normal size, giving him a perpetually bewildered appearance whenever he wore them.

lllll

Already timid and a bit introverted by nature, the small boy was forced to withdraw even further as the other children continued to torment him. As a defense mechanism, he had created an elaborate fantasy world that he could retreat to when things got extra bad.

There, in the realm of his imagination, Mikey would either become a heroic figure that would courageously vanquish his enemies, or a wise and powerful wizard with an array of magical powers at his disposal.

He was especially keen on playing a wizard. His Great-Grandpa Daniel, being from England, had already regaled him, many times, with the Arthurian legends. And to a little boy with an already fertile imagination, Mikey had been immediately enthralled by tales of the gallant Knights of the Round Table, maidens fair and of course the noble and just king.

With his enchanted sword Excalibur and the wise council of the crafty sorcerer, Merlin, King Arthur had successfully united the once nomadic Anglo-Saxon tribes under the shining banner of Camelot.

But as wonderful as the story of Arthur and his knights had been, it was Merlin the Magician that had truly captured Mikey's awe and wonder.

Then, as he and his beloved Grandpa were strolling in the gardens one afternoon, just two weeks before his birthday party, the impressionable child had innocently revealed his most secret wish to be just like Merlin so he could magically do away with the cruel kids at day camp. Imagine his surprise when Grandpa Daniel had divulged that magic really existed.

"You see, Mikey, there are a special group of people, all over this great big world of ours, that have powers, just like your Merlin. Many of them can do wonderful things!"

Skeptical at first, Mikey had scrunched up his face as he challenged his Grandfather to prove such a claim. "You're fibbing! Mommy says that it's not right to fib, Grandpa Daniel."

Smiling down at the very judicious child, Daniel Linderman affectionately ruffled the boy's mop-top before he responded. "Well your Mommy is a very smart and wise woman. And she's right. Telling lies is wrong. But I'm not lying, Mikey. Magic does exist and I can prove it to you."

"How?" Mikey had asked with wide-eyed wonder.

The smile on the old man's face broadened as he guided his susceptible grandson down the primrose path leading straight to Angela's greenhouse. It was there that the matriarch of the powerful Petrelli family grew her prized American Beauty roses.

Daniel had reached the door first, which he now held open, waiting for the small and curious boy to step inside the glass and steel structure. After Mikey had entered the hothouse, Daniel soon followed.

Much to Mikey's relief, he had watched his Grandpa quickly flip on the light switch, thus banishing any boogeymen, real or imagined. He then allowed his grandfather to take him by the hand. Eventually the pair had maneuvered their way around the rows and rows of fragrant rose bushes until they reached their destination.

There, located in the back of the greenhouse, was the compost heap were organic waste materials would be mixed with other components to nourish and fertilize Grandma Angela's roses.

Unfortunately the pungent order wafting from it was anything but pleasant and Mikey had wasted no time letting his Grandpa know. "Pee-ew, it smells bad!" he had exclaimed while he had pinched his nose between a thumb and forefinger.

Giving his little shoulder a reassuring pat, the elderly man asked that his grandson indulged him just a little while longer. "I know son. But if you're a good boy, you'll soon see what I have to show you."

"Okay, Grandpa."

Lined along the back wall Mikey could see a few of potted bushes that appeared worse for wear. Even at his tender age, the then four-year-old could tell from the barren thorny branches, that these plants would never bloom again.

Letting go of Mikey's hand, Linderman had stepped gingerly toward the nearest dead plant. Smiling, he gave Mikey an impish little wink before turning away to face the dry and brittle bush. Then as the boy looked on, the aging Company founder, mindful of the thorns, carefully took a thin dead branch between his fingers. He then closed his sparkling blue eyes when he felt the familiar tingle of his ability course through his body. Ultimately his power had begun to flow from his fingertips and into the plant, casting it in an eerie glow.

Mikey gasped as the seemingly lifeless bush miraculously started to sprout healthy looking emerald colored leaves. Soon after, to the boy's utter astonishment, dozens of dewy rosebuds appeared. And when the young blossoms suddenly burst into bloom, red and bright, Mikey Bennett could no longer suppress his squeals of sheer delight.

"Grandpa, you _do_ know magic!" he happily had declared.

With his sapphire eyes sparkling brightly, Daniel Linderman looked down at his grandson. "Yes, I do. But you wanna know an even bigger secret?"

Mikey had nodded mutely but enthusiastically.

"Because you're my great-grandson, you too will have magical powers one day."

Excited by this latest piece of news, Mikey gushed, "Really? Just like Merlin?"

Linderman's smile didn't quite reach his eyes as he had replied, "Yes, Mikey. Just like Merlin."

To be continued…


	6. Chapter 6

**The Ties that Bind**

Summary: (Sylar/Claire) Sequel to the "Devil's Own".

It's been five years since Claire Bennett gave birth to her baby, a beautiful little boy that she's named Michael. Both mother and son are currently residing inside confining walls the new Petrelli family estate nestled away in an undisclosed location in upper state New York.

So far Mr. Linderman's people have found no trace of Michael's father, the nefarious serial killer, Gabriel Gray, otherwise known as Sylar.

A/N: I own nothing related to Heroes. All characters are the property of Tim Kring and NBC.

**Chapter Six**

_Later that same evening…_

Claire Bennett had eventually succumbed to the irresistible power of her son's cute little pout.

God, he looked so much like his father every time he did that.

Sometimes all it took was one Gabriel-esque pucker to strong-arm her into doing whatever Mikey wanted, like reading his favorite bedtime story. "Okay, I'll read the chapter where Merlin convinces the noblemen to let Arthur to pull the sword out of the stone. But then you have to promise to go to sleep right after. Deal?"

Nodding his head in agreement, the small boy smiled as he replied with a happy little squeak, "Deal!"

But after only a few pages into the story, Claire smiled when she heard her son's soft snoring. As she quietly closed the book and then carefully placed it on the night-stand, she gazed over at Mikey. Just as she thought…the little guy was sound asleep. With a mother's gentle touch, Claire lovingly swept his chestnut bangs away from his forehead, before placing a kiss upon it.

She then rose from the edge of the bed, fully prepared to make a hasty yet quiet exit from her son's room. Walking towards the door, Claire had already flicked off the beside lamp, mindful, of course, to leave the reassuring glow of the nightlight on to ward off any monsters that might be hiding in the closet or lurking under the bed.

Looking over her shoulder one last time before retiring to her own room, she cast an adoring gaze at her son, her perfect little angel sent down from heaven. "Sweet dreams, baby," she whispered. "I'll see you in the morning. I love you."

lllll

Claire now found herself navigating down the dimly lit corridor that led straight to her room. It was located just a few doors down from Mikey's just in case he needed her.

As she peered out into the gloomy hallway, she soon realized that it must have been well after 10 o'clock. Her grandmother, a known miser despite her vast wealth, had strict instructions that all the lights on the first and second floors be turned down every night promptly at nine.

Angela had cited the recent energy crisis, brought on the by the trade embargo with Venezuela, as the reason for her sudden ecological and economical conservatism.

"We need to set an example Claire," her grandmother had vehemently told her when she had first arrived at the new mansion. "You are a congressman's daughter for goodness sake! What would the nation think if they were to see you _wasting_ what little precious resources we have left?"

Of course Claire knew better. It had been no secret that her biological grandfather had strong ties to the South American nation and to its tyrannical dictator. She also knew that the Company had struck a clandestine deal with the oil producing country, allowing it to horde petroleum for years. In fact, the Company had several reservoirs strategically placed all over the globe in the eventuality of a fuel shortage catastrophe.

And as she continued to blindly fumble her way down the hall, Claire muttered under her breath, cursing Angela's unnecessary frugalness. "Jesus, the woman is practically richer than Oprah. Would it kill her to leave on a light or two?"

Not that it mattered anymore. Just ahead she could now make out the outline of her bedroom door through squinty eyes. But as she carefully approached…_OOMPH!_

Surprisingly, shockingly Claire Bennett had collided face first into the solid wall of a masculine brawny chest. "What in the hell?" she asked, half expecting the mysterious mass of muscle not to answer her. But when it did with a heartfelt "I'm sorry", reflexes kicked in immediately, prompting her to hastily step away.

But as she did so, Claire clumsily lost her footing. Careening backwards, she was about to land on the carpet and embarrassingly grace the floor with her butt. A gasp escaped her when suddenly she felt the firm yet gentle grip of man's hands reaching out to steady her.

"Are you alright?" asked a deeply concerned baritone tinged with an enchanting foreign accent.

Unaware that her hands were still latched onto the man's powerful forearms, Claire tried to regain her bearings as well as her pride.

"Uh…yes. I guess I'm okay. God I'm such a klutz! I should be the one apologizing to you, Mr.….?"

"Dalmatov." Sylar smoothly filled in the gap. Just moments earlier, he had left the confines of his guest room to seek Claire out. As luck would have it, she had run right into him.

"Dalmatov…"she repeated as her brain slowly tried to make the connection. A bolt of sudden recognition struck her when she realized that she was currently entangled in the arms of her grandfather's house guest.

Claire immediately disengaged herself as she blushed profusely, thanking the gods that he couldn't see her crimson flushed cheeks.

Or so she thought.

Sylar owed a debt of thanks to a certain Alabama hardware store owner that had possessed the gift of enhanced night vision. Unlike Claire, he could see _everything_ in the pitch-black hallway including the way her skin prettily reddened.

Out of embarrassment and perhaps a desperate need to explain herself, Claire Bennett began to ramble. "Mr. Dalmatov, I-I'm so sorry! Y-you see, the hall is dark and of course you can't see a damned thing two feet in front of you. And I tried to be careful, I really did, but then WHAM! There you were and…"

Sylar, still camouflaged under the illusion he so cleverly created, was thoroughly amused by Claire's adorable flustered state. After letting her prattle on for a few seconds, he decided to rescue her from further humiliation.

"…._And_ that's quite alright. I should be the one to apologize. I was on my way downstairs to the kitchen to make myself some tea. I didn't think that I would run into anyone at this hour of the night. I'm sorry if I frightened you Miss Petrelli."

Claire, whose vision was finally acclimatized to the dimness of the corridor, could now discern Dalmatov's dark handsome features and his piercing dark eyes.

_He sure is nice to look at_, Claire pondered wistfully. She was completely enraptured by him until she noticed the arrogant little smile playing on his lips.

Stopping herself from gawking at the man any further, she gradually became wary of the Russian's true intentions. Just _what _was he doing out of his room? She knew full well that the kitchen was locked up tighter than virgin's chastity belt until the next morning.

Crossing her arms in front of her chest, she challenged the stranger. "So tell me, Mr. Dalmatov…how _exactly_ were you planning on making tea for yourself?

I'm sure that Mrs. Ballew has already told you that the pantry is under lock and key until breakfast. You weren't perhaps trying to snoop around this place trying to uncover the Petrelli family secrets?"

Claire's intuitive perspicacity elicited a hearty chuckle from the foreigner that towered above her. "Oh? And what gave you that impression, Miss Petrelli?"

Upon hearing her biological surname, Claire wasted no time correcting the man that had dared to utter it. "First of all, it's _Bennett_. By some accident of nature, I may have been born Petrelli. But in my heart I will always be a Bennett.

And second, the fact that you're prowling around in the dark _and _on your first night in a strange house, appears highly… suspicious. So spill it, what are you doing stalking the halls like _Nosferatu_? And don't give me that 'tea' crap!"

_Now there's the little spitfire I know and love_, Sylar thought affectionately. He couldn't help but notice the way her Texas twang seemed more pronounced whenever she was agitated. Yet as much as he loved getting her all riled up, he thought it best to bring this contest of wills to an end.

Reaching into the deep pocket of his black satin robe, Sylar carefully pulled out what appeared to be a plastic baggie containing some questionable looking contents.

As she gazed at the small pouch, the corners of her mouth curled up into a distasteful sneer.

"So what's that, your stash?" she asked imperiously, blue-green eyes narrowed into slivers of suspicion.

Shocked by the inquiry, Sylar's eyes opened wide before Claire warned him, "You'd better not light a _doobie_ in this house or my grandmother will wear your guts for garters. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to bed. Good night Mr. Dalmatov."

Then with a haughty air, she straightened her back as tried to scoot around the imposing Russian.

However, Sylar had other plans.

_You don't get away so easily, Claire, _he thought with a sly smile.

Boldly, he reached out, summarily taking a hold of her thin wrist in the process. He then spun her around to face him so that he could plead his case. "You are so quick to judge, Miss _Bennett_. But you have made a _grave_ mistake!"

Wrenching her wrist out of Dalmatov's grasp, Claire wasted no time in soundly slapping him hard across the face. As the large man reeled back from the impact, her eyes narrowed as she hissed, "No, it's YOU that's made a mistake, asshole!"

Then in a surprising move, she landed a powerfully executed roundhouse kick to his midsection which caused his knees buckle.

Undeterred by the pain she had just inflicted, or by Dalmatov's seemingly quick recovery, an incensed Claire started to stalk her way toward the west end of second story where Linderman shared a boudoir with Angela.

"How _dare_ you put your hands on me? I'm going to get my grandfather! Once I tell him what you've done, he'll send your pot-smoking, women-grabbing ass packing!" she snarled angrily, her heated words trailing behind her.

Sylar, for once in his life, was at a complete loss. He honestly didn't know what to do next. His carefully crafted plan had unraveled in just a matter of moments.

_Shit!_

He had to stop Claire from alerting her grandfather and eventually the entire Petrelli household. Or he will never get another chance to get this close to her again.

So he did the only thing he could, even if it meant enlisting a little assistance from his abilities. Before Claire could get any further, Sylar stretched out his arm, halting her progression.

As soon as Claire felt the frighteningly familiar tug on her limbs keeping her frozen in place, Sylar could hear the beat of her heart steadily accelerate. He could also perceive the sound her erratic breathing as mind and body tried make sense of what was happening to her.

Her mouth and throat unexpectedly became as dry as a desert gulch. Claire didn't say a word, she couldn't. Anxiety had temporarily stripped her of her ability to speak. Her mind, reeling with thoughts both appalling and hopeful, sent shivers of trepidation shooting down her spine. She trembled as she sensed his silent approach. Tears of born of humiliation and fear of the unknown stung her eyes. But she willed them not to fall.

Sylar now stood directly behind her. He knew he had frightened Claire and for that he was truly sorry.

But he needed to make her understand that he meant her no harm. He only wanted a chance to explain what was happening and reveal Linderman's nefarious plans for their son. But first...he had to know if she was receptive to his presence.

With an audible sigh, Sylar dropped his masquerade, addressing her in his own voice at last.

"Claire," he began hesitantly. "I thought you'd remember that I always carry a pouch of Earl Gray."

He smiled when he heard her gasp then whisper his name. "_Gabriel?_"

Releasing her from his telekinetic grasp, he slowly walked around Claire until he was facing her again. As he looked upon her beautiful yet unreable expression, Sylar held his breath waiting for some sort of reaction from her.

Claire, on the other hand, had been overcome with a myriad of emotions. Not knowing whether she should laugh, cry or scream to high heaven, she just stood there not believing her own eyes.

After all these years of wondering, hoping and at times even _dreading_ the possibility of seeing him again, Gabriel Gray was now standing before her tall and proud.

Smiling softly at her, he nodded. "Yes, Claire. It's me." He then stretched out his arms, fully expecting her to fall into them. What happened next however took him completely by surprise…

With a confident little smirk, Claire Bennett swiftly drew back a fist. Then before the serial slayer could react, she cold cocked him with a mighty sucker punch, effectively knocking him straight into the beginnings of unconsciousness.

Splayed out on the floor like a dying cockroach, Sylar drifted further into oblivion, as his enhanced hearing clearly discerned Claire's angry words. "Gabriel, you sorry _bastard_! You've got some _serious _explaining to do!"

_To be continued_…

**A/N: **Well kiddos, the moment you've all been waiting for has finally arrived. Claire and Sylar have met face to face, and boy is she pissed! I can't say that I blame her. Hell, it's been _five_ years, no phone calls, no email, not even a stinking postcard!

And let's not even mention the lack of child support! Let's just say that in the next chapter, Sylar will get raked over some pretty hot coals!

But don't worry…we'll get to the good stuff in the next couple of chapters!


	7. Chapter 7

**The Ties that Bind**

Summary: (Sylar/Claire) Sequel to the "Devil's Own".

It's been five years since Claire Bennett gave birth to her baby, a beautiful little boy that she's named Michael. Both mother and son are currently residing inside confining walls the new Petrelli family estate nestled away in an undisclosed location in upper state New York.

So far Mr. Linderman's people have found no trace of Michael's father, the nefarious serial killer, Gabriel Gray, otherwise known as Sylar.

A/N: I own nothing related to Heroes. All characters are the property of Tim Kring and NBC.

**Chapter Seven**

Claire Bennett was now looming over the unconscious form of Gabriel Gray with a self-satisfied smirk etched across her face. Her triumph, however, was short-lived when she heard the unmistakable sound of a bedroom door quietly opening then closing.

Judging from the distance of the sound, the creaking noise had originated from the vicinity of Peter's room. Then, to her great horror, the soft echo of footsteps could now be heard reverberating off the carpet. And to make matters even worse, they were steadily heading in her direction!

_Oh crap! Oh crap!_

She had to move Gabriel out of hallway and fast! Offering up a silent prayer for courage, Claire gathered up all of her strength. Quickly, she bent down to loop her arms underneath Gabriel's. Then with a heavy grunt, the tiny young woman proceeded to drag the long-limbed serial killer across the carpeted floor.

The task proved to be more difficult than she has originally estimated. Even though Gabriel was still a slim 165 pounds, his 6' 4' frame was dead weight right now due to his unconscious state. And in Claire's mind, yanking him towards her room was like trying to lift a sumo wrestler.

Nevertheless, the fear of someone actually discovering Gabriel infused her with a much-needed rush of adrenaline, pushing Claire to move like she had a purpose.

As the footfalls got closer, Claire Bennett grunted and strained as she struggled against gravity and time. But in spite of the odds against her, she actually managed to reach her door and in record time.

In a blink of an eye she threw it open and with one final groan of exertion she wrenched the unresponsive man completely into her room before prying eyes could get a glimpse of him.

Claire's nerves were shot as she weighed the repercussions of Gabriel's sudden reappearance. But as tired and unnerved as she was, she still had the good sense to close and then to lock the door securely to prevent any snooping relatives from bursting in unannounced.

She trembled all over, drenched with nervous perspiration, panting desperately for her next breath. With her heart racing a mile minute, she cast a worried glance at Gabriel.

_Of all the days he could have popped out of nowhere, he chose Mikey's birthday. Why? It's been five years! What does he want with us now? _

Was he there to hurt her or Mikey? Claire thought about that question for minute and the answer was a resounding "No."

He had loved her once, she had been sure of that fact. He wouldn't hurt her or their son.

_Yeah, but that didn't stop me from kicking his sorry ass, now did it? God I hope I didn't hurt him too badly,_ she thought anxiously.

But then she felt angry. Why was she so worried about his well-being? He sure as hell didn't give a damn about hers or Mikey's for that matter! She should just run right down to her grandfather's room and tell him everything.

But the more she thought about turning Gabriel into the waiting clutches of the Company, the less enthused she felt about the idea.

She knew it be a one-way ticket to Hell. The Company would kill him, plain and simple. And Claire, in spite of her better judgment, couldn't live with herself if something were to happen to him.

lllll

Feeling somewhat relieved that Gabriel's detection had been evaded for the time being, Claire expelled a heavy sigh.

_Whew, that was close! _

But when she suddenly heard Sylar groan despite his stupor, Claire began to move at a frenetic pace around her room. Her thoughts, each one more frenzied than the last, threatened to consume her.

_Gabriel Gray… here…in my house!_ _Why? How?_

_Jesus, if my family finds out, they'll kill him on sight, especially Peter! _

Claire was so lost in the whirlwind of imaginary scenarios which depicted Gabriel's slow torture before dying by Peter's hand, that when she caught an accidental glimpse of herself in the vanity mirror, she gasped.

_God, I look like shit_!

And she was right. Her reflection appeared haggard and worn all of a sudden…as if she had aged a decade in just the span of a few minutes.

She needed to get herself together. There was no telling when Gabriel would awaken and she refused to face him looking like an old crone. Claire had to be the epitome of calm…unaffected and as cold as ice.

In other words…she needed to channel her inner Angela Petrelli.

So she made a quick dash into her bathroom to splash some cool water on her face. After dabbing herself dry, she ran a brush through her unkempt hair until it was tamed again. However, being under the harsh glare of the bathroom light forced Claire to realize that she was still wearing her green satin nightgown. And that little slip of fabric left nothing to the imagination.

_Gotta change out this thing before Sleeping Beauty wakes up! _

But before she could ditch the _Victoria's Secret_ wear, there was an unexpected knock on her door. Claire, like a dear caught in the glare of headlights, stopped in mid-action.

_Fuckity, fuck, FUCK! _

Hastily she threw on a white a terry cloth robe to cover up her scantily clad body, as panic took center stage. Claire's mind frantically sifted through all of the undesirable possibilities concerning the identity of her late night caller.

But when her thoughts turned toward her son, she panicked even more.

_Oh God, could it be Mikey at the door?!_

What if he had had a nightmare? What if he needed her? But how could she possibly let him into her room when his _father,_ a man he had never met, was unconsciously sprawled out in the middle of the floor?

Then there was another knock, this one more insistent than the last, prompting Claire to cautiously sprint toward the door. When she was close enough to it, she tentatively whispered, "Who is it?"

"Hey Claire, it's me, Peter. Are you okay in there?" asked the muffled voice of her concerned uncle.

Taking a deep breath, Claire lied through her teeth. "Yeah, I'm fine. I just couldn't sleep."

Just on the other side of the door Peter Petrelli frowned…he wasn't convinced. His niece was _hiding_ something, he could feel it.

"Claire, open up. I just want to make sure everything is all right."

Peter's doggedness threw Claire into a full blown red alert

_Great what do I do now? If I open this door and he's sees Gabriel… it's all over! Gotta think, gotta think…_

lllll

When Claire didn't respond right away, Peter sighed. Long ago he had made a solemn promise to a broken and frightened girl to never, _ever_ to probe her mind without her consent.

But that had been ages ago, during a time when Claire Bennett had been a broken hearted pregnant teenager scared out of her wits.

He had been her comfort, her rock, Claire's only confidant during those harrowing days. And yet Peter had vowed to respect her privacy while she still grieved over loss of the man that had left her with child. Never once did he invade her mind, not even in an attempt to help her.

However, Peter knew that given time, one day Claire would eventually get over the son-of-a-bitch that had knocked her up.

But unbeknownst to his niece, he had secretly sworn to himself that if _Sylar_ were to ever cross his path again, Peter would definitely pick up where he had left off that fateful night in Kirby Plaza. And he would stop at nothing to finish Gabriel Gray off, once and for all.

lllll

But now his love and growing concern for Claire's wellbeing would force Peter Petrelli to break his promise to her. Closing his eyes, he cautiously pushed out with his mind in an attempt to gently touch hers.

But when Claire felt the familiar tingle at the back of her skull signaling an unwanted telepathic invasion, she immediately went on the defensive. Hastily she flung the door open before Peter considered phasing through it to see if she was actually okay.

Quickly closing the door behind her, Claire immediately put up a mental firewall of complicated legal texts. The very same ones she was currently learning about in class in attempt to block Peter's probing.

lllll

When the door had opened unexpectedly, revealing a visibly perturbed Claire, Peter unconsciously took two steps back.

Doing her utmost best to mask her anxiety, Claire asked rather coolly, "Yes, Peter what is it?"

Placing a hand at the back of his neck, he broke out in a cold sweat. Feeling a bit guilty, he tried to appeal to her good nature by giving her an apologetic albeit sheepish smile.

But apparently his boyish charms only seemed to anger her further. Folding her arms across her bosom, Claire began to tap her foot impatiently. Her sea-green eyes had already contracted into twin slits of annoyance.

"Well…I'm waiting."

"Look, I'm sorry. But I thought I heard voices in hallway."

"_Voices?_" Claire parroted indignantly, trying to sound authentically angry.

Peter nodded as he replied, "Yeah, I heard voices. And I was pretty sure that they were coming from your end of the hall."

"Well, yeah. You heard right," Claire abruptly blurted out. She needed to get rid of Peter and fast. So she figured that if she could feed him credible sounding half-truths he'd go away before Sylar regained consciousness.

"I ran into that Russian guy. You know…Dalmatov. It was right after I left Mikey's room. We exchanged pleasantries then I said 'goodnight'. No big deal."

Now it was Peter's turn to narrow his eyes. "No 'big deal', huh? Then why did I hear some sort of racket?"

Claire quickly swallowed the huge lump that had formed at the back of her throat.

"_Racket?_ What racket? I didn't hear anything."

Stepping a little closer to her so he could look her in the eye, Peter gave his niece a knowing grin. "You're _lying_, Claire. You know I can always tell."

Suddenly Claire felt like she was being backed into a corner. She had to fight back with a few accusations of her own before Uncle Peter discovered the truth.

"Lying, huh? What about _you_ trying to get inside my head after you promised not to? I never thought you'd go back on your word, Peter."

Peter quickly fell silent. Feeling mortified, he looked away. Claire was right. He had betrayed her trust.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "It won't happen again."

As Claire looked upon her pitiful uncle, remorse quickly set in. She felt terrible for being deceitful, so she decided to tell him what happened. Of course, she would give him the edited version of events, omitting certain details. Again, she felt awful for being somewhat underhanded. But right now there was no other option.

"Look," she started to explain. "The reason I didn't answer my door earlier was because I was _embarrassed_. You see, as I was walking down the hall from Mikey's room, I tripped over my own feet. And just as I was about to do a swan-dive onto the carpet, Mr. Dalmatov came out of nowhere and saved me from falling on my butt."

At first, Peter's expression was unreadable as he stood there, chin in hand, mulling over Claire's story. Meanwhile, she maintained the cerebral shield just in case he decided to go searching for clues in the hidden recesses of her brain.

Then without warning her uncle began to snigger at her expense.

"What's so funny?" she asked, only this time the irritation in her voice was quite genuine.

"You - almost falling flat on your ass, that's _what_," he managed to say in between contained fits laughter. But then when he added, "Thank God it's _indestructible_, huh?" Peter couldn't help himself. Much to Claire's chagrin, he started howling.

"Goodnight, Peter," she said between clenched teeth.

Holding up his hands in a sign of surrender, he asked for her forgiveness. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry."

Peter screwed up his face in an honest effort to compose himself, but Claire's pissed off expression only made him want laugh even harder. Nevertheless, he took a deep breath then changed the subject to keep the hilarity at bay.

"Hey, what was all that _legalese_ scrambling around in that pretty little head of yours? You boning up for a test, or something?"

Claire smirked at her uncle. "Yeah, you could say that. I have to get up early in the morning for Professor Evers' class. And that's probably more than enough reason to get my 'indestructible ass' to bed."

Smiling broadly, Peter finally conceded. "Very funny. Goodnight Claire."

Faking a yawn, she bid her uncle a speedy goodnight. Reaching behind her, she opened the door just a crack, managing to slither through it before slamming said door in Peter's very amused face.

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As Peter trudged down the hall, Claire pressed her ear to the door, assuring that his footfalls were indeed getting fainter and fainter.

Once she was satisfied that she couldn't hear him anymore, she swiftly turned away from the door only to run right smack into a very conscious and very angry Gabriel Gray.

"Fuck, I thought that _goody-two-shoes_ uncle of yours would never leave!" he loudly exclaimed.

Placing a finger to her lips, Claire instantly shushed him. "Shut up! Do want to wake up the whole house?" she hissed heatedly.

Shrugging his shoulders, Gabriel begrudgingly acquiesced. "Fine, whatever you say, _baby doll_."

"Don't call me that!" she spat back. "You don't have the right to! Not anymore! You got that? Besides, you still have some explaining to do, you fucking _deadbeat_! Like for starters: what are you doing here? Or how about telling me where in the HELL have you been these past five years?

Oh wait, I remember now! The dead bodies you left behind all over the country were like goddamned postcards! Let's see…there was that school teacher in Omaha, the one with super-enhanced sense of taste and smell.

Then there was the priest that was found murdered in his own church in Tucson. He was the one you killed for his ability to change the molecular structure of any liquid. I guess that came in handy whenever he ran out of sacramental wine, huh? By the way I got a peek at the crime scene photos. As sickening as they were, I couldn't help noticing your creative flair. That crucifix you shoved up his ass was an especially nice touch!"

Gabriel tried to interject. "Claire, I can explain…"

But Claire wasn't through recounting the roster of his murderous accomplishments. "I'm not done yet, you psycho! There was that little league coach in Florida! I guess you just had to have his power, didn't you? What's it like to be able to breath underwater? Did you know that his two sons discovered the body? They were only babies, Gabriel! Babies! And you had no right to take their father away! And what about the 63 year-old grandfather you mutilated in Dallas? What did he ever do to deserve to die the way he did? For that matter, what did any of your victims do to you expect possess an ability that you weren't meant to have in the first place?"

Feeling thoroughly disgusted, Claire roughly tried to push past him. She wanted to put some distance between her and the man that had shattered her heart and her trust into a million pieces. But Gabriel wouldn't let her. Using his telekinesis, he stopped her dead in tracks.

Rounding on Claire, he quickly brought his face down until it was only a few inches from hers. With dark eyes blazing, they bored into hers as he whispered in a dangerous tone, "Now, Claire I understand why you might be upset. And I can even appreciate your need to lash out at me for not being there for you or our son. But I'll be _damned_ if I'm going to listen to you spewing out the Company's _distorted _version of the facts!"

"Fuck you..._Sylar._" Claire spat out his pseudonym like a bad taste in her mouth. "I'll be the first to admit that the Company has lied. But that still doesn't change what you've done or who you are. You're a sadistic murderer with a God-complex!"

Gabriel winced, pained by Claire's words. "If that were true, then why did you fall in love with me?"

"I was young and impressionable. Besides, I did what I had to do to survive. I was the victim of Stockholm Syndrome, nothing more. There was no romance, no love. It was an _illusion_ Gabriel, it wasn't real!"

Angered by her attempt to hurt him, he sent her flying across the room with just a wave of his hand until she landed soundly in a chair.

Claire sat there unable to move watching helplessly as he quickly closed the gap between them. Gabriel now stood right in front of Claire, towering ominously over her cowering form.

"Now, you're going to sit right in that chair, like a good girl, and listen to every word I say! Trust me - you'll want to hear what your grandparents have been up to. You have to listen because our son's life depends on it!"

To be continued…


	8. Chapter 8

**The Ties that Bind**

Summary: (Sylar/Claire) Sequel to the "Devil's Own".

It's been five years since Claire Bennett gave birth to her baby, a beautiful little boy that she's named Michael. Both mother and son are currently residing inside confining walls the new Petrelli family estate nestled away in an undisclosed location in upper state New York.

So far Mr. Linderman's people have found no trace of Michael's father, the nefarious serial killer, Gabriel Gray, otherwise known as Sylar.

A/N: I own nothing related to Heroes. All characters are the property of Tim Kring and NBC.

**Chapter Eight**

"What do you mean by that? Is Mikey's life in danger?" Claire asked desperately. Her wild-eyed expression and the strangled tone in her voice did little to disguise her fears.

When Sylar hesitated in his response, she started to squirm in her chair, struggling against the invisible fetters that kept her immobile. She needed to get to her son, protect him, even from his own father if necessary.

"Let go of me, you _bastard_! I swear to God, if you touch a hair on his head…" she growled loathingly.

Without saying a single world, Sylar carefully placed his large hands on either arm of the chair that Claire was seated in. He then leaned in until he was only a hairbreadth's away from her face.

He was close, in fact, that Claire could almost feel the slight brush of his moist lips against hers. And just the thought of his mouth being anywhere near her again made the young woman shudder with equal parts of desire and revulsion.

To distract herself from the temptation of his supple lips, Claire's gaze traveled up the contours of Sylar's pallid face until it locked onto the perilous darkness of his eyes. His stare was foreboding, dangerously so. And yet she found it be …intensely alluring. He appeared hungry, predatory and it was all she could do not to beg him to kiss her.

She felt herself slowly slipping under the spell that Sylar was weaving and yet she did little to stop it…until she thought of her son. She needed to fight against the undertow threatening to pull her beneath the murky waters of Sylar's deceptions. He watched as she closed her eyes then began to shake her head violently.

"No, no, no, NO!" she moaned in anguish. He wouldn't fool her again. Whatever he had to tell her was most certainly another lie, another way to manipulate her feelings.

When she finally opened her eyes, Sylar could suddenly see the fire in them, burning bright and hot with a fury he never thought possible. "Claire?" he asked almost timidly, afraid of what her answer might be.

"You have about five minutes to say what you came to say. After that I start screaming my head off. Pray that you're gone before my family comes through that door. Because if you're still here when they do, they'll KILL you."

Not once had Sylar moved from his position, he kept dangling over Claire like ripe succulent fruit on the vine, daring her to take a taste. Smiling broadly, unabashedly he whispered, "And what makes you think that I'll allow that to happen, Claire-Bear? Don't you know me by now and what I'm capable of? Your pathetic family of heroes is _no_ match for me, especially that do-gooder, copy-cat, Peter. And if he tries to stop me from saving my son, I'll _crush_ him!"

Sylar waited for his words to sink in, fully expecting the blonde-haired girl before him to cringe in fear. But that had been the old Claire, the frightened and vulnerable ingénue from five-years ago. The woman that now sat stoically in her chair, defiantly glowering at him, was hardly recognizable.

In a tone reserved and wielded by women of great power and authority, Claire declared high-handedly, "Now you only have three minutes. Time is fleeting Tick-Tock Man, use it wisely."

Claire's derisive allusions to Sylar's former profession only seemed to enrage him. She kicked the hostility up a notch by giving him that condescending Noah Bennett grin. But in spite of her smart-alecky remarks, she watched with growing uncertainty how he tried to contain his anger.

This was a dangerous game she was playing. And Claire knew that pushing his buttons might have an adverse affect. But maybe, just maybe if she could throw Sylar off balance, he'd lose his concentration. And if that happened… then the unseen shackles would dissipate and she could make a break for it.

But when he backed away suddenly before turning his back on her, she was confused. Wasn't this supposed to be the part when he unleashed his anger? To do his worse, by trying to intimidate her with a show of power?

Why was it that then that when she finally heard his choked sob, her heart surprisingly went out to him? "Gabriel?" she softly called out. When he didn't answer, she asked again, "Gabriel, are you okay?"

Not bothering to turn around, his shoulders slumped in a sign of tired defeat. "Oh, Claire, do you know how hard this is for me? Knowing how much you must _hate_ me and me loving you despite it all. I tried to stay away for _both_ your sakes, I really did. I figured that you were better off without me anyway."

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Claire was immediately thrown into a slack-jawed state of shock. The man that she had loved so fiercely was starting to emerge from the callous façade of the killer.

With a ragged breath she softly whispered, "I don't hate you, Gabriel. I just hate what you've become."

At last, he whirled around to face her with unshed tears in his eyes. "That's just it, Claire. You only know what your precious family has led you to believe about me. And I'm sure that you've been told that I've gone back to killing for powers. But nothing could be further from truth.

Those men you mentioned, those so-called innocents whose blood I shed, were the most depraved kind of human beings on the planet. I'm sure the Company failed to mention that they were all _child_ _molesters_."

"What? The files never mentioned…"

"Of course they wouldn't, babe! Why would the Company admit that I was purposely ridding the world of human garbage? Because it wouldn't suit their plans, that's why! They needed you to be afraid of me, so they doctored the evidence to make my crimes appear more heinous than they were."

"Why child molesters, why would you care about people like that?"

"Because maybe, in some small way, I was trying to make the world a better place for our son," he said quietly.

Something inside of Claire warned her not to go down this road with him. She felt way down in her gut that the words Sylar was about to utter would change her life forever, destroying any semblance of safety she might have had. But the fear of NOT knowing his version of the events that had shaped both of their lives urged her on.

"Tell me, Gabriel. I want to know what you know. Please."

With a heavy sigh the dark man slowly approached. As he moved closer, the imprisoned woman could now feel her bonds lifting away, freeing her at last. Escape, a fleeting thought, had crossed her mind. Instead she remained in her chair ready to finally listen.

"Claire, how much do you know about the Company and for that matter your grandparents?" Sylar asked calmly.

She shrugged, perhaps a little more nonchalantly than she should have, but she was attentive nonetheless. "About as much as most people that know about the Company's existence in the first place. As for my grandparents, I know even less. Why?"

"How would you feel if I told you that the Company has been experimenting on specials since its inception?" he carefully inquired.

Again, she shrugged, not terribly impressed with this line of questioning. Anyone that has worked for the Company, or knew of someone that did, was already to privy to the fact that the organization conducted all sorts of trials on their test subjects.

"Gabriel, I know all about the experimentation. And I'll be the first to admit their methods were less than humane in the past. But thanks to my Dad and uncle, the days of pushing subjects to their limits to see what they can do are over. The Company you knew five-years ago is gone."

"Are you sure about that, Claire?" he asked with a sneer. "Well, allow me to _enlighten_ you then. During my last stay at the Primatech 'Hilton', I stumbled across some _very_ interesting information regarding your Grandpa Daniel.

It seems that he and that grandmother of yours have been fucking around with genetics long before Chandra Suresh comprised his precious list.

For the last thirty years, your grandparents, along with the other members of the original twelve company founders, dedicated themselves to search the globe for individuals with certain genetic markers.

Since the Human Genome project was still 13 years away, the Company had to do things the old fashion way by keeping surveillance on a small percentage of the world's population. And if any suspicious activities were detected, then those individuals were immediately bagged and tagged. After running several painful tests, samples of their blood would be taken then catalogued in a top secret file."

"And I guess that's the part when the Haitian came in and wiped their minds clean, right?" Claire sardonically chimed in.

Sylar smiled at her ignorance. "WRONG! Sorry, princess. It's the same family tree, but a completely different branch. The Haitian wasn't discovered by the Company until 1982, when he was just 13. No, there was another mind sweeper before him, someone much more powerful."

Curious, Claire was prompted to ask, "Who?"

"It was one of the Company's founders, Charles Deveaux."

"What? No way! From what Daniel said, Deveaux's ability was dream walking."

Sylar shook his head. "Oh no, Claire, he was much more than that. He not only entered a sleeping subject's dreams, at will, he could also manipulate _what_ they dreamed about.

As soon as R.E.M. sleep would set in, he would insert himself in their dreamlike state, where he could extract their memories and supplant new ones, subliminal suggestions, if you will. And in the waking world he was just as powerful. Much like your Haitian friend, he was known for negating the powers of any evolved human in his general vicinity. But did you know that he could also stimulate the part of the brain that houses dormant abilities in some people, with just a thought? Many specials manifested against their will because of Deveaux's mind fuckery."

Trying to wrap her head around all of this new information proved a bit daunting. Sylar's revelations were nothing more than ramblings riddles of ancient history. She needed to know about the here and now so she could protect her son. "Okay, so you've told me about how the Company's founders fucked around with people's lives. Big deal, they've been doing it for years! What does all this have to do with Mikey?"

Afraid that he was losing Claire's interest, Sylar decided to cut to the chase. Sighing heavily, he solemnly said, "The Company has been operating a secret _breeding_ program for decades. It started with the original twelve. Some of the founders decided to procreate amongst themselves for the purpose of producing superior offspring that would one day take the reins of the Company.

Your father, Nathan, along with the Haitian and a few others were the first generation of genetically enhanced children. Although pleased with the results, not all of the children manifested as fast as Linderman would have liked.

And when some of these kids proved impervious to Deveaux's cerebral stimulus, Linderman had decreed that they be put up for adoption by ordinary, _insignificant_ families."

Intrigued, Claire whispered, "But then that would mean that Nathan should have been put up for adoption too. He didn't manifest until 2007."

"Wrong again, sweetheart. Your daddy manifested when he was twelve. Your grandma got wind of it though. Afraid of public exposure and what it could do to Nathan's future political aspirations, she had Deveaux erase all of his memories of flying and implanted a suggestion that would suppress his ability until well into adulthood."

Claire shook her head refusing to believe what she was hearing. She knew her grandmother was cold bitch-on-wheels. But if what Gabriel claimed was true, then she was downright evil.

"You're lying!" she almost shouted until she was reminded by Sylar to keep it down with a wagging finger.

Crossing his arms in front his chest, Sylar leaned back against her chest-of-drawers. "I knew you wouldn't believe me, so I brought a little evidence that would convince you."

A well-formed eyebrow arched when Claire asked, "Well…where's this _evidence_ of yours?"

"It's hidden and safe. You'll see it when the time is right."

Throwing her hands up in exasperation, Claire sighed, "How convenient…anytime someone needs proof, it's always 'hidden and safe'." She said the last part with air quotations.

Sylar quickly chided her. "Are you going to let me finish or you just going to sit there mocking me? Remember that this has to do with Mikey and saving his life!"

"Please…do go on! I'm _riveted_ to your every word!" Her sarcasm earned her a nasty growl from Sylar.

This new Claire was too much to deal with. She was hard…unfeeling _and_ scathingly cynical … a far cry from the happy little cheerleader of yesteryear. Blinking back his tears of rage, Sylar exhaled noisily in frustration. "What happened to the sweet girl I was once knew?"

Without thinking, she snapped back. "She grew up and stopped believing in fairy-tales. That's what happened."

Sylar sighed, "Fine, have it your way, princess. Anyway, since they met with great results with the first generation of super-babies, the Company decided to breed the next one and the one after that.

Let me ask you this: did you think it was a _coincidence_ that Nathan Petrelli first born son of a powerful, rich family and Meredith Gordon, dirt-poor daughter of a retired rodeo cowboy, hooked up all those years ago? Your dad was already dating Heidi and would have never even given someone like Meredith a second glance, if it hadn't been _suggested_ to him in his sleep!

It was an _arranged_ match, Claire. And your grandfather orchestrated the whole thing. He made sure that Nathan was stationed at that base near Kermit so that your parents could meet. And all because Linderman wanted to combine self-propelled flight with pryokinesis to see what he would get. And you, baby, were the result."

The tears she had held in check, until now, started to slowly trickle down her face. "You're lying," she whimpered, but her argument was weak. Somewhere from deep inside, Claire knew that Sylar was telling the truth, no matter how awful it was.

Feeling sorry for her, Sylar moved closer to her. He wanted to put his arms around her, comfort her somehow, but he refrained. "Claire," he began again, "The Haitian was Charles Deveaux's illegitimate son, but he wasn't his only bastard child. Aside from the deceased daughter Deveaux had with his wife, there is still another daughter still living. And _she_ is more powerful than her father and her brother put together. Her name is Jacqueline La Croix and she works directly for your grandfather."

Through her anguish, Claire dared to ask, "Doing WHAT exactly?"

"I have strong reason to believe that she's been carrying on her father's work, but on a much larger scale. This La Croix woman doesn't just manipulate people's dreams, remove memories or activate abilities. She also possesses the uncanny aptitude of honing in on people with compatible DNA…people that could be _bred _together."

"What are you saying, Gabriel?" Claire asked him tremulously.

Locking his eyes onto hers, Sylar resolutely declared, "Thanks to your grandparents, Jacqueline La Croix is the reason I kidnapped you in the first place, Claire! She was instructed by both Daniel Linderman and Angela Petrelli to tap into my clairvoyant ability and insert false premonitions. Premonitions, I might add, that prompted me to paint the portraits that had eventually led me to you.

And as much as I hate to say this, you…me and that week in Montana had been prearranged and sanctioned by your grandparents. But there was a flaw in their plans…they hadn't counted on me actually falling in love with you."

Sobbing pitifully, Claire shook her head in vehement denial. "No, Gabriel. I don't believe it! And you CAN'T make me believe it! Mikey is not the result of some _breeding_ program. He's my son, not some lab experiment!"

Extending his hand, Sylar encouraged Claire to take it. "Come on, I'll show you the proof. Maybe then you'll see how important it is for me to get you and Mikey out of this place before his power manifests."

Refusing to touch him, Claire rose from her chair by her own volition. Glaring hatefully at him, she sneered, "And why would I want to go anywhere with you?"

To which he quickly answered, "Because if you don't, the minute Mikey's abilities become apparent. Your grandfather will order your execution and take custody of our son."

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Mikey Bennett was now sleeping fitfully, tossing and turning on his tiny bed. He was being plagued by nightmares, more than likely brought on by worries of day camp. Influenced perhaps by his fascination with mythical creatures, he could now see horrific images of fire-breathing dragons soaring majestically through a blacked-out sky. In his dream he was trying to outrun a particularly nasty swarm, desperately trying to find shelter from their swooping attacks. But he had been dashing through an enormous open field, devoid of any houses or trees as far as the eye could see.

Daring to glance over his shoulder, he gasped loudly when he saw that the largest of these terrible lizards had already started its descent, its great black wings slicing through the air, as it picked up speed. Mikey again tried to find somewhere, _anywhere_ to hide. But when he heard the mighty roar, heralding the dragon's approach, he knew that the creature was gaining on him and fast.

Breathing heavily, he tried to call upon the powers, the ones that had been bestowed upon him by the wise wizard Merlin. Well… the Merlin he had conjured up in this realm of dreams anyway. But to his disappointment, they weren't working. Feeling scared and vulnerable, Mikey started to cry. He could now he feel the dragon's intake of air as it prepared to exorcise hell-fire from its gaping mouth.

As he continued to run, the small boy looked over his shoulder one last time. The dragon, now only a few feet behind him, had already exhaled a great fiery inferno straight at him. Mikey screamed as he felt the first of the flames lick at him and start to char his tender skin.

"_MOMMY!"_

The frightened boy continued to shriek for his mother until he awoke from his nightmare. As his brown eyes flew open he desperately clutched at his blanket, bringing it closer to him. Tears, real ones this time, streaked down his face as his little body trembled.

"Mommy!" he called out again, then again, and again.

_To be continued…_


	9. Chapter 9

**The Ties that Bind**

Summary: (Sylar/Claire) Sequel to the "Devil's Own".

It's been five years since Claire Bennett gave birth to her baby, a beautiful little boy that she's named Michael. Both mother and son are currently residing inside confining walls the new Petrelli family estate nestled away in an undisclosed location in upper state New York.

So far Mr. Linderman's people have found no trace of Michael's father, the nefarious serial killer, Gabriel Gray, otherwise known as Sylar.

A/N: I own nothing related to Heroes. All characters are the property of Tim Kring and NBC.

**Chapter Nine**

"Linderman take custody of MY son? It'll be over my dead body!" Claire said incredulously as she began to follow Sylar out of her room.

Sylar's response was grim. "I think that's the plan, babydoll."

Claire immediately shot him a heated glare. "You really don't listen do you? DON'T call me _babydoll_!" Feeling more than a tad annoyed with Sylar, her narrowed eyes began to critically scrutinize him.

"Uh, aren't you forgetting something?" she scoffed.

Seconds from crossing the threshold, Sylar stopped to look over his shoulder. "And what would that be?" he quipped.

"Well, the fact that you still look like a deranged serial killer might raise an eyebrow or two. You may want to slip into something a little more…what's the word? Ah yes, _inconspicuous_."

Sylar merely grunted. He knew Claire was right, of course, but he would never admit it. Instead he closed his eyes, calling upon his power of visual/sensory manipulation. And in what seemed a fraction of second the air around him appeared to shift and converge as his current visage melted away.

A few seconds later Claire found herself gaping at the Siberian good-looks of Pavel Dalmatov. Sylar's transformation from scruffy-looking anti-hero to Russian demi-god had been simply amazing.

Amused by Claire's gawking, he cleared his throat to get her full attention. "Ahem! Uh, Claire…you're staring at me. Do you like what you see, my little _babushka?_" Sylar smirked roguishly as the Russian endearment flawlessly rolled off his tongue.

Infuriated by his arrogance, Claire growled in frustration as she tried to shove past him.

But when Sylar's superior auditory senses picked up a most distressing sound, his fingers wrapped themselves around her arm. Roughly, he yanked her toward him, successfully detaining Claire from going any further.

Infuriated by his continued impertinence, Claire quickly pulled her arm out of his grasp. Looking up to scold him, she gasped when she found that the mirth in his eyes had died.

"Sylar, what's going on?" she whispered worriedly.

Maintaining stoic silence, he urgently ushered her out into the gloomy corridor instead. Enraged by his manhandling, Claire summarily opened her mouth to protest. However, her annoyance instantly evaporated into thin air the moment she finally heard Mikey's cries.

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Claire's body tensed when she first heard her son's frightened wailing. His little voice was desperately calling for her.

"_Mommy! Mommy_!" he miserably bawled.

"Oh God…it's Mikey!" Panic-stricken, the young mother sprung into action by blindly sprinting down the hall toward her son's room. She was so fiercely focused on going to his aid, that she barely registered the fact that Sylar was close on her heels. Her only priority right now was getting to Mikey, to comfort him and sooth away his fears.

Sylar too was anxious. His greatest fears were probably being realized at this very moment. He had to get to his son and there wasn't a precious second to lose!

When he and Claire were in front of the door, he swiftly extended his left arm like a lethal weapon. Then with just a wave of his hand, Sylar violently opened the door, nearly taking it of its hinges. Once the entryway was clear, both aggrieved parents burst into Mikey's bedroom. After they found him on his bed, still crying and curled up in a fetal position, Claire sighed with relief when he appeared virtually unharmed.

Immediately she went to her son, taking the small boy into her arms. As she began to rock him back and forth, Claire whispered gently, consoling Mikey with her words.

"It's okay, baby. Mommy's here. It's alright," she cooed as Sylar wordlessly looked on. Casting a quick glance in the dark man's direction, she found his expression, although masked by someone else's visage, to be one of great concern.

Mikey, meanwhile, continued to shake like a leaf within his mother's arms. Eventually Claire's soothing comfort gradually calmed him down. When his heart wrenching sobs were reduced to the occasional sniffle, his mother finally dared to ask, "Baby, tell Mommy what's wrong. Did you have another bad dream?"

Slightly pulling away from his mother, he quickly wiped the tears from his eyes with the back of a little hand. Mikey answered shakily, "Y-yes."

Claire let out a heavy sigh. As much as she didn't want to think about it, Sylar's seemingly far-fetched tale of dream manipulators was still fresh on her mind. "Was it the one about the dragons again?" she fearfully questioned her son.

This time he didn't reply, allowing a small yet earnest nod speak for him instead.

Sylar, who had quietly remained in the background, slowly stepped toward his estranged family, letting his voice be heard. "Claire," he began cautiously.

But as Sylar advanced, he watched Claire protectively draw her son closer to her bosom to his bitter disappointment.

"Not, now _Pavel_." She had spat out at his assumed identity with restrained contempt. But when she suddenly remembered that little ears might misinterpret her hostility, Claire softened her tone. "_Please_, Pavel, not now. We'll talk later, I _promise_."

Claire's statement caused Sylar to smile somewhat. "Very well, Miss Bennett, as you wish." His Russian accent sounded thick but it was not pretentious. The smooth transition from annoying smart-ass to charming foreigner still astonished her despite the dire circumstances.

Visual illusion was one thing, but Sylar's uncanny way of inhabiting some else's skin was simply remarkable. He wholly immersed himself, living and breathing his roles with the flourish of a master thespian.

_Hell, if you weren't such a sadistic, murdering jerk-off, you'd make a pretty good actor, _Claire thought sardonically

Sylar, in the interim, was clueless of Claire's musings. His focus right now was solely on his son.

Looking intently at the boy, Sylar wanted very much to make his acquaintance. A desperate need washed over him to reassure Mikey that he meant him no harm. But the former watchmaker was also keenly aware that any boldness on his part might frighten Mikey. So he bided his time, waiting for Claire to make the proper introductions.

Luckily, he didn't have to wait long.

Clearing her throat, Claire paused for a moment, trying to think of the suitable words that would most befit the present occasion. But how does a mother broach the subject of a long lost father with her child?

Especially a father he had been taught to fear all of his life.

Surprisingly, before she could even put her thoughts into words, a curious Mikey broke the ice. "Mommy, who is _he_?" he inquired softly, pointing a tiny finger at the mysterious stranger standing just a few feet away.

Still feeling a bit uneasy, Claire replied hesitantly, "H-his name is…"

"…Pavel Dalmatov. I'm an old and dear friend of your mother's." Sylar had interjected with a sly wink and a smile.

Incredibly, there was something about that self-assured grin that immediately put the child at ease. Claire was actually floored when she saw her usually timid son happily returning the amiable expression.

Sylar's intrusion, under normal circumstances, would be most unwelcome. But if truth be told, Claire was actually relieved. She had absolutely no idea who she would have introduced Gabriel as. Thank God he had decided to take the high road by not revealing his true identity to Mikey just yet.

Slapping on a fake smile, the young mother tried to sound confident and reassuring as she "verified" the so-called authenticity of Sylar's claim.

"Yes, honey, it's true. He's an old friend from…Texas." When she saw the guardedness in her son's eyes, she quickly added, "I actually met him in high school…at the _homecoming_ game."

Sylar smirked at Claire's clever way of inserting some legitimacy into the yarn she was currently spinning.

"That's right," he said as genially as possible. "Your mom was very charming in those days, especially when she wore her cheerleading uniform."

Sylar's last comment earned him a well-deserved scowl from Claire.

The situation was awkward enough without Sylar's thinly veiled innuendos. And Claire certainly didn't need to hear how she had gotten his motor revved up with a short skirt and a pair of red spankies. Anyway, she knew that Gabriel's priorities that night had been to get into her skull NOT her pants.

But just as she was about move the conversation to a chaster topic, Peter suddenly appeared in the doorway with his arms folded across his chest. Right behind him stood an equally upset Nathan. And his current disheveled state was very un-Congressman like. Claire almost burst into fits of girlish laughter when she saw his usually perfectly coiffed hair sticking straight up like the quills on a porcupine's back. But when she noticed that Nathan's million dollar smile had been replaced by an irate grimace, her sense of humor suddenly dried up and blew away.

She didn't need to have Matt's telepathic abilities to know that her uncle and father weren't too pleased with the strange events presently transpiring. And when Peter fixed his sharp gaze on the Russian, she came to the realization that his presence in Mikey's room had yet to be explained.

"Hey, Peter, sorry we woke you," Claire readily apologized.

Without taking his eyes off the Siberian guest, the powerful empath confidently strode into the room followed by his brother. His voice was harsh as he began to interrogate his niece, "What's _he_ doing here?"

But before Claire could answer, the disguised Sylar boldly stepped toward his oblivious enemy. "I was awakened by the boy's crying. Out of concern I roused his mother. When I saw that the child had suffered a nightmare, I did what I could to assist Miss Bennett."

As for Nathan, he instantly disliked the man that dared to stare down his brother. There was a smugness about him, a certain air of overconfidence that immediately rubbed the Petrelli brothers the wrong way.

"Well, it looks like my grandson's okay now, Dalmatov. So why don't you just go back to your room where you belong, alright?" Nathan said in a standoffish manner.

Peter nodded his head, agreeing with his brother's declaration.

Nevertheless, for Claire and Mikey's sakes, he extended his hand to the stranger in a show of gratitude.

"Thank you, Mr. Dalmatov. But I think Nathan and I can handle things from here on out. Goodnight."

Inwardly Sylar raged. He wasn't going to be dismissed so quickly, especially not by some namby-pamby emo and his slime ball brother.

Careful to shield his thoughts from Peter, Sylar mind seethed. _You're not fooling anyone, Petrelli! Yeah, the haircut might be different and that scar on your face screams "butch". But to me, you're still the same ass wipe I almost annihilated that night at Kirby Plaza! If it hadn't been for your flyboy big brother I would have finished you!_

Outwardly, though, Sylar turned on the charm as he humbly offered to stay. "I will take my leave only if Miss Bennett and her son wish it so."

Not wanting a showdown to erupt between her family and the father of her child, Claire leapt up from her son's bed to stand between the three men. Turning to Sylar, she looked at him meaningfully, pleading with him to listen to reason.

"Mr. Dalmatov, thank you," she began. "Mikey is okay now, as you can see. So why don't we say goodnight for now so he can get some rest, please?"

Sylar regarded Claire's words for a few moments as his anger subsided. Cutting his eyes over to his son, he smiled at him one last time before bidding him a fond goodnight.

"Very well, I shall retire to my room. Good night Mikey." He said with a friendly grin. He was more than pleased when he saw his son smile back.

Then with the flair and grace of a foreign dignitary, Sylar bowed at the waist before Claire. Then to her enormous surprise (and to the Brother's Petrelli's vexation) the serial brain snatcher graciously took her hand in his. Before she could wrench it away, she gasped when he gently placed a chaste kiss upon it.

Letting go of her hand, Sylar's eyes never left Claire's face. He rather enjoyed seeing the way her cheeks flushed so brightly.

"Goodnight, Miss Bennett. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow."

As he left the room, he cast a snide slanting glance at his visibly incensed antagonists. Nathan's revulsion was on full display as he clenched his fists tightly. Peter's face, on the other hand, had turned a deep shade of crimson, surely the result of his blood finally boiling over.

Wordlessly, he left the room to allow the Petrelli's to talk amongst one another.

To be continued…


End file.
